Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
I pull out a chair and even my arms hurt, probably from when he held them in a tight grip behind my back and fucked me on the edge of the bed. “This is too much food. I could’ve cooked instead.”
Jude strides to the chair across from me, watching me with his head cocked to the side. “I figured you’d be too sore to move properly, let alone cook.”
“That’s not—” I wince when my ass meets the chair, and I have to hold on to the table for balance.
“You were saying?” Amusement laces his voice, and a small smile appears.
I feel spoiled by his smiles, and I can’t help but think this will backfire exponentially.
“Whose fault is that?” I grumble. “You’re the one who can’t have sex like normal people.”
“Neither of us are normal people, sweetheart. You know that, your body knows that, and even your journal knows that.” He swallows half a boiled egg. “Will I find other fantasies after last night?”
My cheeks heat, but I spread butter on my toast, pretending I’m not actually dying of embarrassment. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“The fantasies, Violet. The ones I’m putting so much effort into making come true. Shouldn’t I get some recognition?”
“Why would you?”
He pauses with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“Why would you put so much effort into making my fantasies come true?”
“Why? You’d rather it’s the man you’re fantasizing about?” His eyes darken to a frightening color, and I look down, scared he’ll see my chaotic emotions written all over my face.
A hand shoots up in my direction, and I gulp as he stands and grabs my jaw. “I told you, didn’t I? No one will satisfy that cunt aside from me. You’re mine, so there will be no fantasy men or anything in fucking between.”
The possessiveness rips through my flesh and flows into my blood, but I still whisper, “Why would you want me to be yours?”
He releases me and sits down. “As I mentioned. It’s because your life is mine.”
“I don’t see the correlation.” I take a bite of my toast. “My life being yours doesn’t mean you’d want to fuck me.”
“It does. Because I own every inch of you.” He sips his coffee, then sets it back down. “Your fantasies included.”
“Right.” I let out a scoff. “Will you have someone following me again? Like Mario?”
My voice catches on his name, and I fill my mouth with toast to stop it from trembling.
“No.” The word is firm, but I also sense something underneath. A tension of sorts, and now, I feel like shit.
I know I thought Jude attacked us, but that’s obviously not true. Dahlia said he visits Mario regularly, and even now, I can tell he feels some form of guilt about him.
“I’m sorry about Mario,” I whisper. “He’s in a coma because he tried to protect me. It’s all my fault.”
“If we’re playing a my-fault game, then it’s mine. I’m his boss and the one who put him in that position.”
“But it was because of me—”
“Enough, Violet.” His voice booms in the silence. “Blaming yourself and being a martyr doesn’t make you a saint or anything grandiose. It only allows predators to prey upon you.”
“Predators like you?” I ask, then regret it immediately because why the hell am I saying what I’m thinking without a filter?
“Yes, predators like me.” He doesn’t seem offended, just…accepting, I suppose.
I clear my throat. “Do you think he’ll ever wake up? Mario, I mean.”
“I don’t know.”
“Can’t you ask Julian for help? He seems to be way ahead in developing drugs for comas and stuff.”
He narrows his eyes.
I gulp the bite of the most divine, fluffiest pancake I’ve ever had. “What?”
“Don’t bring up Julian or praise him.”
“I wasn’t praising him. He just seemed to know what he’s doing.”
“Like when he told you I tried to kill you?”
I frown. “Why do you think he did that?”
“So you’d be more terrified of me and take the way out he was offering. He loves cornering people so they’ll do his bidding.”
“He’s really cunning.”
His eyes are still narrowed, but he says nothing.
I make him some toast with butter and jam, and he pauses before he takes it, almost as if he’s never had someone make him some toast before.
I’m so used to making it for Dahlia, I didn’t even think twice.
“Are you close to him? Julian, I mean.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know, which is why I’m asking.”
“He’s just a controlling pain in the ass.”
“Do you…have other siblings?”
“No. My mother had too many miscarriages while I was growing up.”
The words land like thunder on the table, and I gulp, afraid to breathe. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Why are you sorry?”
“I’m just… I know that must’ve been painful.”
“Yeah. She was in pain for a long time, but she still did everything and went to all the doctors so she could conceive.” He pauses, swallowing a mouthful of toast. “Thirteen.”