Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
The intensity of what I feel for her—what I’ve never felt before—terrifies me.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever come back from it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Angie
Jason is still in his clothes. Only his jeans are open, his dick out and still hard.
I wait.
Wait for him to fuck me again.
To do what he needs to do.
I don’t regret a single second of it. Not the way he touched me, not the way he fought himself, not even the way he looked at me afterward—like he’d done something unforgivable.
He hasn’t. He never could.
I saw the war in his eyes, the way he battled against what he wanted, as if desiring me was the same as surrendering to something dark inside him. As if his control was the last thing tethering him to sanity.
But I don’t want his restraint. I don’t want his careful distance. I don’t want the version of him that holds back.
I want him. Every raw, aching, tortured piece.
He doesn’t see himself the way I do. He thinks he’s ruined, that his past, his pain, the things he keeps buried make him unworthy. But I don’t want the cleaned-up version of his love. I want the truth of it.
He thinks he lost control. Maybe he did. But not in the way he fears.
Because I felt it. That moment when he let himself feel me, when he let down the walls he’s been building around himself for so long.
He felt something real, and that terrifies him. Terrifies him that it’s different—perhaps more profound—than what he ever felt with Lindsay.
But it doesn’t terrify me. Not anymore.
I want to be the place where he doesn’t have to hold himself together. I want to take the weight from his shoulders. I don’t care about his past. I don’t care about the demons that chase him. I care about him.
I’ll never turn my back on him, no matter how violent he becomes.
He can beat me, fuck me into oblivion.
And still I’ll be here.
“I’ll be here,” I whisper.
He opens his mouth, but no words emerge.
“It’s okay,” I say.
Again, he says nothing.
So I say nothing, simply reach for him.
He slowly sheds his clothes and lies down next to me.
We don’t snuggle. We don’t touch.
We simply are.
Together.
A few moments later, when Jason’s breathing has become regular, and a soft snore escapes his throat, I rise, put on a robe, and let Tillie in. Then I make us a light dinner of pasta with lemon and basil and a loaf of Ava’s bread.
I return to the bedroom to wake him, but he’s sleeping so soundly I can’t bring myself to disturb him. I eat alone, Tillie at my feet, and then I settle back on the couch with my books.
At eleven p.m., I let Tillie out, wash up, and put on my pajamas. Jason is still sleeping soundly. I cover him with an extra blanket, and I’m ready to slide in beside him when I hear a buzzing noise coming from the floor.
Jason’s jeans. His phone. I grab it.
I don’t want to disturb him. I should let it go to voicemail. I mean, it’s after eleven. Who would be calling him at this hour?
But my curiosity gets the best of me. I take the phone out of the bedroom. “Hello?”
“I’m sorry. I’m looking for Jason Lansing.”
“This is his phone,” I say. “He’s asleep. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I’m Tom Chapman,” he says. “And I’m sorry for calling so late, but I just got some information that I know Jason will want.”
“Do you want me to wake him up?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
Ugh. Jason needs his rest. I hate to disturb him when he’s finally getting a good night’s sleep, but…
“Okay. Wait just a minute.”
I take the phone and head back into the bedroom. I nudge Jason gently. “Jason?”
No response.
He’s really out.
I nudge him harder and raise my voice. “Jason.”
He responds, one eye opening. “Angie? You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” He must be feeling guilty about earlier. “I’m so sorry to wake you, but there’s a Tom Chapman on the phone. He says he has some information that you’ll want and that it can’t wait.”
Jason rubs sleep out of his eyes. “Tom who?”
“Chapman?”
His look of confusion morphs into wide eyes. “Fuck. Okay, yeah.” He grabs the phone from me.
“Tom?”
Pause.
“Fuck, that’s great. Hold on, say that again.” Jason takes the phone away from his ear and begins typing. “Got it,” he says, phone back at his ear.
Pause.
“Not a problem. I’m glad you woke me. I’ll get on this right away.”
After he ends the call, I look at him, my eyebrows raised. I won’t ask. He has to tell me.
But he doesn’t offer any information. Instead he jumps out of bed and begins tossing on his clothes.
Seriously? He’s leaving? It’s nearly midnight.
What does he expect to accomplish at this hour?