Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I cross to the piano and open my mouth to do just that, but she turns her head over her shoulder and smiles at me so softly that between the sweet music flowing through the room and the shining, raw sensuality in her eyes and the devious tilt of her bow lips, I’m lost. She doesn’t have the look of a woman who cares how old I am. She said no past and no future. Given how wrecked she looked when she got here, I have no doubt she’s going to use me to undo something else in her mind. To forget the hurt, to move past whoever wronged her.
I’d bet anything that I’m a rebound, and it shouldn’t be so…fucking hot.
“You look like you’re going to ask me if I’m absolutely sure,” she says flatly, determination hardening her tone. “Well, I am.”
“We don’t know each other.”
Her lips twitch, and her eyes dance. She never stops playing. “I’m aware.”
“Have you…have you ever done something like this before?”
Why do I feel like I’m the one who’s half her age? Right. Probably because I haven’t done this before. Technically, one-night stands, yes, but nothing like this.
“No. Have you?”
I shake my head, unable to get my tongue to work, and then I nod.
“Right. Somewhere in the middle. I get that.” She pauses, but there’s no flicker of doubt. Just extra softness that curls her lips in a gentle, encouraging smile. “Are you scared?”
“I…don’t know that scared is the right word,” I reply.
She nods, her hands flying over the piano, the music changing tempo. It’s not upbeat, but it is more violent. Crashing. A wave and a crescendo, a peak and a valley, over and over. She’s had a fuck of a night. There are dark smudges of mascara under her eyes. If she cried, she wiped away the evidence other than the mascara, and it’s been enough time that her face isn’t puffy, and her eyes aren’t even overly red.
She’s probably pretty even when she cries.
But it still makes me want to find the offending parties who hurt her and ram their face so far up their ass that they’ll be smelling their own anus for at least a good few years to come.
She never stops playing. The music swells through the lounge, and I wonder if she knows how talented she truly is.
Or if she’s ever been appreciated.
I’d like to be the one to do that for her, even if it’s just for a few minutes.
“What is that?” I ask.
She twists back around, and she watches her hands as if she’s mystified that they belong to her. “I don’t know. I guess it’s what I hear in my head right now and how I feel. Complicated, angry, inexplicably starved, sad. Is it wrong to want to feel nothing just for a few minutes? Nothing but pleasure? I’ve never had that, and I’d like to try it if you’d like to try it too.”
She’s so painfully honest that it’s humbling and terrifying.
“You could just touch me a little. Even that would be welcome. I want to feel like a woman right now, not like a thing that’s been discarded. I want to feel like I matter, like I’m beautiful, like I’m treasured. I get that it’s asking a lot.” Her hands pause, and her eyes sweep to mine. “If you want to, you could just finger me or something.”
“What?” My legs nearly buckle while my dick does its best impression of a rapier, ready to redeem her honor through…well, I suppose it would be through dicking. “I’m not going to finger you!”
She sighs, tucking her hands between her knees. “If I’m being honest, that’s disappointing.”
Her coat rides up, revealing what looks like the top of a lace stocking. I don’t want to think about what she has on under there, even though, to be honest, I very much want to.
“It’s not because I don’t find you attractive or because I don’t want you. It’s because that doesn’t feel respectful.”
“Do you want to touch me?” she asks.
“Yes, but—”
“What if I told you what to do?”
My head buzzes like I’ve consumed half the damn bar. But I only had one shot. What the fuck was in it? I need to throw that bottle away. Logically, I know I can’t blame it for my lack of control, but there’s nothing logical about this.
“I’ve been reading some epic smut lately. I thought I’d like to give it a try. If you don’t, that’s okay. I’ll just go, but could I borrow your phone to call a tow truck?”
“A tow truck?” I echo.
“My car died.”
Right. She said that.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with it. It’s just the perfect ending to a terrible night.” She turns again and starts playing some jarring, aggressive music. She’d be great at writing scores. I wonder if that’s what she does. Something in the music industry? Maybe she’s a concert pianist. It’s not like I would have heard of her before.