Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Three, get in the fucking shower,” I growl. I stalk to her bathroom and turn the shower on cold and wash away all the fucking alcohol I drank all night. Scrubbing myself, I stand under the spray, letting it wake me up when I only want to sleep, with her right next to me. Grabbing my cell from the bathroom counter, I find her number and send her a text.
Me: I’m in the shower, and I plan to stay. This is your notice.
“Reon,” she calls out, and I grin as I step back under the water.
The door swings open, and when I glance over, there she stands, naked, the towel pooled in a heap at her feet.
When she opens the shower door and steps inside, she says, “You aren’t allowed to touch me. Tell me you understand.” My gaze rakes over her, from her toes, which have chipped pink nail polish on them, to the scrapes on her legs, and all the way up to her arm, where the bandage is still tightly wrapped. When I finally make it to her eyes, she’s watching me.
“No touching. I mean it, Reon.”
“What’s your favorite day?” I ask as I move out of the spray, and she steps under it. After grabbing the soap, she lathers it up and starts to wash herself.
“Favorite day? That’s weird.”
“No, it’s not. Tell me your favorite day.”
“Wednesday,” she says with a smile.
“Why?”
“Because it gives you a feel for the rest of the week. Monday and Tuesday are the build-up, Wednesday is the settle-in day, and Thursday and Friday are the end of the work week before the weekend.” She closes her eyes before opening them and locking them on mine. “My favorite color is red. What’s yours?”
“Chocolate.” As I go to reach for her, those chocolate eyes of hers narrow at me, and I drop my hand to my side. “And I already knew red was your favorite color, Caterpillar. Just as I know you twitch before you fall asleep, and the fact that you love it when I drag my fingers over your face before I lean in to bite you. Or even when I place my hands around your throat. You love the color red because it’s the color of blood.”
She turns, giving me her back, her ass on full display. “You can’t touch it,” she reminds me from over her shoulder as she washes her face.
“Just once?” I ask, my hand reaching out toward her.
“No. And if you don’t listen, you will never touch it again.”
“That’s unfair.”
“No, what’s unfair is saying we’re married when we aren’t.”
“But we are,” I insist, grinning at her.
She gives me an unimpressed look, steps out of the shower, reaches back in, and turns the water off, leaving me standing here.
“We are not. I would remember marrying you.” Applying some sort of cream on her face, she stares at me through the mirror.
“You don’t need to remember, but I do have a ring for you.”
“I would remember. Care to tell me the truth this time?”
I step out and grab the towel she gave me last time as I come up behind her. “Can I touch you now?”
She turns so her body is directly in front of mine, then says, “No,” and saunters into the bedroom.
I huff out a breath.
Fuck.
I need her.
Her boyfriend needs her.
Her husband needs her.
When I leave the bathroom, I find her climbing into bed, wearing an old T-shirt.
“You can sleep on the couch,” she says.
“But I want to sleep in the same bed with my wife.”
“And I wanted to never be involved in the Hunt.”
“Why?” I ask. “You like blood.”
“Not my own.” She rolls her eyes before she lies down.
“Would you like me to create your own Hunt?”
Sitting back up at my words, she asks, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, do you want to hunt?”
“Hunt?” She cocks her head.
“Yes, I can do that for you. I know that forest like the back of my hand. Do you want a Hunt as a wedding gift?”
Her eyes go wide, and she starts to nod but stops. “We aren’t married,” she insists once again. “But I will accept the Hunt on one condition—”
“What? Name it?”
“You tell me why you think we’re married.”
I smile as I walk to the couch and call over my shoulder, “I’ll tell you tomorrow when you are rested enough to deal with the outrage.”
“How do you know there will be outrage?” she says through gritted teeth, and I just chuckle before I climb onto her two-seater couch, where my feet hang off the end.
And I pass out.
THIRTY-FOUR
LILITH
He’s beside me when I wake, even though I told him to sleep on the couch. He mumbles something in his sleep, so I lean over and hit him in the ribs. He jolts and sits straight up, his eyes finding mine, and he smiles slowly.