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)
“Caterpillar,” he breathes out, and I just stare at him, not acknowledging his pet name for me. “I went and saw your father today. I wanted to apologize to him for what I did, ask for forgiveness, and explain to the man I would do everything in my power to protect and love you for the rest of my godforsaken life.” My heart skips a beat at his words. “I’m sorry I took that life away from you. I’m sorry I took him away from you.”
“I…” I shake my head. He steps forward, offering me the roses. When I don’t take them, he lifts is other hand. In it is a dead butterfly encased in a square of glass.
“I want to keep you, Caterpillar. I want to keep you so badly my head hurts, but I won’t keep you if you don’t want to be kept.”
The roses fall from his hand as he lifts the butterfly higher. I see blood on his palms from the thorns, but it does nothing to stop him.
“I want to give you something.” He looks up from the butterfly and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a simple gold ring, then just stares at it, not handing it to me. “The stone is a ruby… It’s red, your favorite color,” he says quietly.
“Reon—” I start, but he shakes his head, silencing me.
“I want to spend my life on the Hunt with you. I want you to want me, Caterpillar.” He drops down to one knee. In one hand, he holds the butterfly, and in the other, the ring. All I can do is hug myself and stare at him.
“I fucked up, majorly. And I want to mate with you for our entire life, like butterflies.” He pauses, then adds, “If you tell anyone I did this, I’ll kill them.”
“Don’t you mean you’ll kill me?” I ask, and then he stands and lifts my chin with a gentle finger.
“No, never,” he insists. Then he spins in a circle, faces me once again, and grabs my hand, spinning me away from him and then back. I feel the ring between our palms.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he pulls me to him, holding the butterfly now at my back in his other hand.
“Female butterflies require the male to do a dance before they let him near them,” he explains, reminding me of what I told him.
“You’ve been inside of me, Reon.”
He rocks our hips as he leans forward. “And I plan to be again, but I’m making sure we do it right this time.”
“You think we can make things right?” I ask.
He drops to one knee again, leaving me standing here, not sure what to do. “Yes. You may already be my wife, but I would like to see you in a red dress as you walk down the aisle to me.”
“Red?” I lift a questioning brow.
“Yes, red. And I plan to let you fly with me, sit on my lap in the cockpit, and fuck me however you like it. I plan to pull your hair, smack your ass, and tell you what a good girl you are if that’s what you need. Caterpillar, tell me you want the same thing.”
“I…”
“Do I need to dance more? I’m terrible at it, but for you, I will.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I mean, you did give me my ex-husband as prey for the Hunt. I think that was one of the best gifts I have ever received.”
“I hated him,” he growls. “But I think I fell in love with you when you first spoke to me in that bar. And I’ve loved you ever since then, even though it’s been over a year. Even when you hated me, I loved you.”
“Love is a big word,” I say, staring down into his eyes. I give him my hand, and he looks at it, confused, before he takes it and kisses my knuckles. He then slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.
Standing, he wraps his arms around me and brings me closer, locking his eyes on mine. “You’re coming home with me,” he states before his mouth descends on mine with a venomous kiss that I know will haunt me for the rest of my life. That’s what happens when you let a man you love kiss you. His love feels good. He feels good. He loves me, and I’m pretty sure I love him too.
No, I am sure.
No matter how hard I try to tell myself otherwise, I’m sure I love him.
“Change it,” he says, carrying my bags into his room. “Change it,” he repeats as I stare at an ugly painting hanging on the wall that looks like someone spewed on it, my expression giving away my thoughts.
“What?”
“You’re standing there with your nose scrunched up in disgust. You hate the painting, so change it.” His voice leaves no room for argument.