Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“I’ve n-never—”
“I know.”
“I’m probably going to be terrible at this.”
“You won’t be.”
“You can’t possibly know—”
He had cut her off with a kiss, her lips immediately parting under his, and of course he had been right. She had not been terrible. In fact, she had been the opposite. From the moment her arms had gone around his neck, and her shaking body had arched into his, everything had been perfect because she was perfect.
Seven years had passed since that night, but Troy still hadn’t forgotten what it meant and how it felt when he had slowly pulled the shirt over Laina’s head, and she had covered her face with both hands.
“D-Don’t look at me—”
“You know I’ll do more than that.”
“T-Troy!”
But of course that only had his gaze gleaming even as he took her wrists and gently moved them away from her face. Her eyes collided with his, and the way she had stared up at him, Troy remembered how it had him swallowing hard. Even now, he still couldn’t find the right words to describe it. He just knew she was the only girl to have ever looked at him like that.
Mine.
It had made Troy want to possess her and cherish her at the same time. To devour every inch of her in an instant, but also to savor every spot his lips touched and tasted.
His mouth had traced a path from her jaw to the hollow of her throat, and she had whimpered, her fingers gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles went white. But she wasn’t pulling away. She was arching into him, her hips rising off the bed, her body knowing things her mind hadn’t caught up to.
He kissed her collarbone. The curve of her ribs. The soft skin below her navel where she gasped, sharp and involuntary, and her hand flew to his hair, gripping, pulling him closer.
Laina had stopped talking.
The woman who narrated her own life out loud, who babbled through parent-teacher conferences and grocery runs and every small terror of her day. She had gone completely quiet. Her mouth was open. Her eyes were shut. And the only sounds coming from her were the ones her body couldn’t hold back.
He came back up and pressed his mouth to hers. And when he finally settled between her thighs, she went still. Not frozen—still. The kind of stillness that came when every nerve was focused on one feeling, and there was no room for words or thoughts or anything except the weight of him and the way he moved and the rough sound of his breathing against her throat.
Her back arched. Her hands found his shoulders and held on, nails biting into his skin, and he felt the moment she broke: a single, shattered breath, her whole body tightening against his, and his name on her lips. Not a babble. Not a sentence. Just Troy. Once, barely, like it was the only word she had left.
He followed her. And the sound he made against her neck was one neither of them would ever forget.
After, she lay against him. Boneless. Dazed. Her breathing still uneven. And then, slowly, like her brain was rebooting, the words came back.
“I can’t feel my legs,” Laina whispered. “Is that normal? Should I be concerned? Medically? Because—”
“Get used to it,” Troy told her.
She lifted her head. Her eyes were bright and wrecked and absolutely certain.
“Nobody’s ever said that to me before,” she managed.
“Get used to that, too.”
Mine. It was the only word that felt right to use when describing the feeling of finally claiming Laina’s innocence. The possessiveness that came with knowing he was the only one to know her as a man.
But right now, standing alone in a house where every room still bore his wife’s imprint. Mine was also the only word to describe how he felt.
Her rain boots were still by the door, yellow, scuffed at the toes, a size too big because she'd bought them on sale and insisted the extra room was "cozy."
Her school bag still hung on the hook in the hallway, the one with the enamel pin on the strap that said "I Teach Tiny Humans" in small cheerful letters.
The closet on her side was half-empty. She had taken her clothes but left the hangers, but the empty hangers clicked against each other when he opened the door, swinging gently in the draft like they were waiting for something to hold.
He found the shoebox in their closet. Her side, top shelf, pushed behind a blanket but not hidden well since Laina had never been good at hiding things. Inside of it were photos. Mostly of him. Printed using the old portable printer she had since college. Candid photos of Troy at home, on the couch, in the kitchen, always from an angle that suggested she'd taken them when he wasn't looking. On the backs, in her round kindergarten handwriting: