Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I was under no illusions that Jay had stayed chaste for me like some hero in a Jane Austin novel. I knew that Jay would’ve done everything in his power to forget me, to be free of me. That would’ve included fucking other women.
It was lucky that he pulled the car over on the side of the dirt road leading toward the cottage because I would’ve flung myself out of it otherwise. I needed air that didn’t smell like Jay. I needed to breathe.
He cursed as I stumbled out of the car before it had come to a complete stop. The gravel crunched against my feet, and I took hold of a metal fence, staring at the endless farmland, trying to get the image of Jay and some faceless woman out of my mind.
“Stella.”
He was right behind me. But he wasn’t touching me.
“We weren’t together,” I revealed, my voice low and raspy. “So neither of us can be mad or blame the other.”
Still, he didn’t talk. Didn’t touch me.
“I didn’t fuck him,” I said after a handful of moments, staring out into nothingness. “There was no way I could let another man in. The thought...” I trailed off, shuddering. Not at the thought of another man touching me but of another woman touching Jay. I tasted bile. “I wanted to,” I continued. “Badly. To punish you. To punish myself for falling in love with you. I wanted so badly to forget you, but letting another man in would mean closing the door on us.” I sucked in a ragged breath. “I didn’t let another man touch what has been yours since that night at Klutch, though it would’ve served you right if I had. I wish I had. Wish I could’ve so the thought of you and another woman didn’t tear out my insides quite so painfully. But I’m not that person. As much as I’d wished I could’ve been.”
I clenched my fists at my sides, shaking with the force it took me to stand there, unmoving, unwilling to look at him as he lied, yet unable to survive him telling the truth.
Jay, of course, wasn’t going to let me face away from him, even though he could hear the pain in my voice, even though he surely knew what this conversation was costing me.
His hand circled my wrist and he yanked me around, eyes dark, brows narrowed and mouth downturned.
“I brought a woman into my office.”
I tried to yank my hand back, his skin too hot, my own too cold, but he only gripped tighter, pulled me closer.
“I told her to take her clothes off,” he continued.
My stomach roiled, and I unwillingly let out a whimper of pain, unable to remain silent any longer. I tried to look away, but his other hand grabbed my chin, yanking it backward, forcing me to meet his eyes. They were tourmaline pools I was drowning in.
“I stared at her and stared at the kind of future I would have if I touched her,” he went on, speaking quietly. “It was empty and cold, and I almost did it because that’s what I deserved for hurting you like I did. But I didn’t touch her. Because I knew that the second I did that, I’d never touch you again.”
He loosened his grip on my chin to slowly brush the back of his hand against my jaw. “And, baby, not touching you ever again ... not a fucking option.”
I sighed, my body relaxing ever so slightly, but my eyes narrowed on his handsome face. The handsome face of a practiced liar. Who’d once told me he lied as easy as breathing. Was he doing that now? To protect me from being hurt? No. Jay wasn’t afraid to hurt me.
Still, it stung.
“Stella get in the car so I can drive you home and eat your cunt,” he ordered without inflection.
The word coiled around his tongue and hit my lower stomach. My fingertips curled with need.
I got in the car.
Chapter 7
You can rewrite what you want out of life. With much pain. With much pleasure. With wounds, old and new, with bravery, and most of all, with love.
The story I thought I’d wanted was filled with fashion, friends and countless cocktails, to be sure. But that was just part of it. The rest was a home, eventually. A modest home with a not so modest closet. Warm, small, cozy. A love that was the same. A man who was safe, who was the hero of my story.
But then came Jay. Then came the villain.
And it turned out I didn’t want warm, small, cozy. I needed an inferno, an all-encompassing, yawning, never-ending kind of love. Something that felt safe and wild at the same time. Dangerous and dark.
Wicked.
Yes, I did not want the happily ever after, did not want a Prince Charming. I wanted the uncertainty with the man on the dark horse.