Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
He caught my wrists. His expression conveyed understanding and affection. “Venting might feel better in the moment, but the aftermath makes everything worse.”
“I can’t feel worse!” I wrenched free of his clasp and beat his chest harder.
“Very well.” Resolve infiltrated his tone. “Hit me and mean it or pull yourself together.”
How calm he was. How confident. How infuriating! Hit him? With pleasure. I screeched and swung with all my strength. He caught my fist before contact, so I kicked him. Though he angled his body, he wasn’t fast enough, and my knee clipped his thigh. Not good enough.
The fight was on.
I hit. I kicked.
“Harder,” he instructed. “Faster.”
My temper redlined. “Be quiet!” I swung.
“Make me.” He blocked with ease. “If you can.”
A banshee howl heralded my next punch. The ruthless warrior batted my fist away, as if it were a pesky fly. New howl, new strategy. I lunged at him. We grappled across the room, jumping on furniture, leaving a path of destruction in our wake. I utilized every skill I’d learned in his class, but no matter how many times or ways I struck, he never retaliated. He only ever blocked, which made me more furious.
“You’re making me question my teaching skills, Arden. At least try.”
Aaah! I attacked with fury, shouting things I’d yearned to say for minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years. “I refuse to take the aidem shot! I’m not getting it. I choose my path. Me! Not someone in a cubicle who knows nothing about my life. My money is my money. I should get to decide what to do with it. I have a right to know my test scores. They’re mine! Meal bars are disgusting. Uniforms are ugly, stiff, and itchy. There should be pritis in pritis mines. You’re only using me. I miss my mother and my plants.” My voice broke at the end. That, too, only stoked the flames.
I feigned a punch to the left. When he dodged, I kicked his boots together. He fell on the couch, and I followed him down, intending to pin him. With masterful precision, he flipped me onto my back.
His weight settled over me, making me the pinned. Though I struggled with everything I had, I couldn’t dislodge him. “Thank you for sharing with me,” he calmly stated. “Are you ready to surrender now?”
“Never.” Despite my claim, I sagged against the cushions. I glared at him, and he stared at me, and we panted in unison. “I’m not sure I will ever be able to trust you.”
“Judge me by my fruit. An apple tree cannot produce oranges.”
Dang him! I hated that he had learned my preferred language so proficiently.
“I’m not using you.” He arched a brow, a bead of blood dripping from a cut under his eye, collecting in his brand. “You feel worse.” A confident statement.
Yes! “I thought I told you to be quiet,” I spat.
“And I told you to make me. Neither one of us succeeded.”
Oh, I’d make him shut up, all right. My narrowed gaze dropped to his stupid mouth. Exactly where I’d hit him. I could . . . I would . . .
“Do it,” he challenged.
“I will. Don’t think I won’t.” But I didn’t move. Just panted with more force. I couldn’t tear my attention from his lips. They looked so soft.
He traced his tongue over the bottom. “Do it,” he repeated, temptation itself. “I dare you.”
I . . . did. With a hoarse groan, I clasped his cheeks and lifted my head. He lowered his. Our mouths met in a heated tangle, his tongue thrusting against mine. He kissed me as if he couldn’t breathe without me. As if no other woman existed. As if he’d found a treasure he’d waited his entire life to obtain.
I kissed him back, every fiber of my being engaged in the act and entranced by the man. Not an ounce of frustration tainted the exchange, my cauldron amazingly empty. In my veins, blood burned like fuel, burning hotter and hotter. Thoughts fragmented and defenses cracked until the kiss grew frenzied. I mewled, ceding emotional ground to him. What I ceded, he conquered, and I only craved more and more and more. I clutched and kneaded at his back. Clung to him. Threaded my fingers through his hair.
My bones liquefied. Somehow I rallied the strength to wind my arms around his shoulders and gasp out “Cyrus.”
He pinched my chin, angled my face in the direction he desired, and deepened the kiss, forcing us both to slow. Strength fizzed under the surface of his skin, yet his touch remained gentle, infinitely tender.
My aches and pangs amplified. I met each languid roll of his tongue with a roll of my own, relying on him for every breath. Desperate to be closer to him, I cupped his cheeks. He leaned into my touch as I traced my thumb over the puckered scar tissue. A precious badge of strength and survival.