Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
“It doesn’t give him shit,” he grumbled. “It means you’re wonderfully soft, you love with your whole heart. And there are motherfuckers who will take advantage. Who will see how pure and precious that is and will want to ruin it.”
Tears welled up in my eyes.
“I’m not a good man,” he continued. “I’m not gonna pretend to be. I’ve done some terrible fuckin’ shit. And I surely will have terrible deeds in my future too. I need to make that clearer to you, but I’ve been afraid.”
It felt like my heart splintered my ribs, it was beating so intently. Not because of what Swiss was confessing to be—I didn’t care about that—but because there was real fear, genuine feeling in his voice.
He was still stroking my leg. “Afraid that you’ll see me for what I am, the violence inside me, and you’ll want to run.” He gripped my calf. “Although you’ve taken my violence with a hunger I’ve never seen,” he said, voice deeper now.
My pussy prickled with desire, despite the subject matter.
“And that’s why I think you’re strong enough to stomach what I am,” Swiss told me, laying a gentle kiss on the corner of my mouth. “But, Kate, despite the violent, dangerous man I am, I will promise one thing. I will not ruin your precious heart. I will protect it with everything I am.” His eyes burned into me. “And I’m one wretched motherfucker.”
A tear trickled down my face at his declaration.
Then another.
He wiped them away with his thumb.
I opened my mouth to tell him the truth. Not about Preston, I wasn’t there yet. But to tell him that my heart was his. That I loved him.
But then a bang vibrated against the closed door. We both jumped, so deep in each other we’d forgotten that other people existed.
“Hurry up!” Cody yelled. “Freya won’t shut the fuck up about Kate and tequila shots.”
Swiss’s eyes turned a little less serious. “Although I’m not done with the conversation, I’m definitely in the mood to get you drunk on tequila.”
My toes curled. Though I had partied plenty since I’d unofficially moved in here, I had yet to repeat the tequila shot night.
Now that the promise of tequila and what it would wash away—also what it would give me the courage to do in the bedroom—took over, the truth could wait another day.
Swiss pulled us both up, taking my beer and setting it on the nightstand beside his. He pulled me to him.
“You shave or don’t shave whatever part of your body you want,” he told me, tangling his hand in my midnight black hair which was quickly growing longer. “Though if you want to shave this, I might have a spirited argument against that,” he hummed as he cupped me between my legs, kissing me long and hard.
“Now let’s go and get my woman drunk on tequila,” he declared.
It was the day after I’d gotten drunk on tequila. Like the first night, all of my inhibitions had shed, and I’d had fun using the restraints on Swiss. He’d been more than willing.
I was feeding my hangover, and everyone else in the club, with the vodka pasta that had become my signature dish. We were all gathered around the dining table, empty plates in front of us. I was leaning against Swiss’s arm.
My phone vibrated, and I jumped up the second I saw Violet’s name.
It had been almost a week since I’d heard her voice, and despite all of the wonderful things happening to me and how busy I was, I thought of her every moment.
“Sorry, it’s my daughter,” I told everyone, snatching the phone and standing up. “She’s in Paris. And she’s in love with her older university teacher.” I gritted my teeth at the way that sounded out loud.
Jagger’s nostrils flared. “Need us to fly over there and scare him off?”
I laughed. He didn’t.
Surely he wasn’t serious… I didn’t have time to ponder that because I didn’t want to miss Violet.
“Sweetie,” I answered the phone, turning from the crowd, my eyes touching Swiss one last time. He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t decipher.
“Either that’s a ninth grader over in Paris with a boyfriend—in that case we really do need to go over there—or she had that fuckin’ kid in the ninth grade,” Anderson, one of the patched members, said as I walked out of earshot.
“Mom!” she called out.
I stopped in my tracks. My heart stuttered, and my skin went ice cold. “What’s wrong?” I demanded. I was already mentally pawning off my remaining jewelry to get the next flight to Paris.
Silence rang out behind me, but I didn’t have time to worry about that.
“Oh my god, why do you always think something’s wrong?” Violet whined.
My body sagged right against Swiss’s chest, who had, at some point, gotten up from his chair and rushed to my side, presumably because he heard the concern in my voice.