Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
She works her lip and swallows hard. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-seven.”
A corner of her lips quirks up. “So you’re… thirteen years older than I am. Why is that so hot? Mmm. It’s very… daddy.”
Christ. My dick’s instantly hard, blood thrumming through my veins. “Yeah,” I mutter. “Tell me about it.”
I hold her hand like she’s a princess and I’m her prince, then kiss her bandaged fingers.
Her voice drops to a whisper. “Then why did you take me?”
“Because I'm a selfish bastard who couldn't watch you walk into death. And because the thought of him touching you, hurting you, killing you—I would have burned the whole fucking world down before I let that happen.”
She's staring at me like she's seeing me for the first time. Maybe this is the first time she's really seeing the monster.
Then she leans forward and presses her lips to my forehead.
I go completely still… and stop breathing.
“Thank you,” she whispers against my skin. “For saving me. Both times.”
“Bianca—” My voice is wrecked.
“I'm not saying what you did was right. The stalking, the watching, the kidnapping—it's all kinds of fucked up.” She finally meets my eyes. “But you were right about Marcus. And if you hadn't taken me when you did…”
She shudders, and I want to kill Crowning all over again. Slower this time.
My hand slides into her hair, cradling the back of her head. She's so small, so delicate. I could break her so easily.
Instead, I hold her like she's made of glass.
“I'm sorry I scared you. Sorry I made you feel trapped. But I'm not sorry I took you. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”
“I know.” The way she says it—like she understands, like she's not judging me for it—nearly breaks me. “I'm not going anywhere, Ashland. Not tonight. Not—” She swallows. “Not for a while.”
A while. Not forever. But it's more than I deserve.
“How long is a while?”
“I don't know. I just—I need time to figure this out. Figure out what this is.” She gestures between us. “Because I'm feeling things I shouldn't be feeling for my kidnapper.”
Every cell in my body goes on high alert. “What kinds of things?”
Heat floods her cheeks—Christ, the way she blushes—and she looks away. “Don't make me say it.”
“Say it, lass.” I use that commanding tone I know affects her. “I want to hear it.”
“I—” She's trembling now. “When you hit Marcus tonight. When you stood over him and threatened him, I should have been scared. But I wasn't. I was—”
“What?”
“Turned on,” she admits in a rush. “I was turned on watching you defend me. Protect me. And that's ridiculous, right? That's Stockholm syndrome or something.”
I kiss her.
I can’t help it… can’t stop myself. Years of wanting and waiting and dreaming, and she just admitted she wants me too.
My hand tightens in her hair, angling her head, and she opens for me with a gasp that goes straight to my cock.
This kiss is different—this is hunger.
My other hand grips her hip, pulling her closer, and she comes willingly. She practically climbs into my lap, and Christ, having her body against mine is better than any fantasy.
“Not Stockholm syndrome,” I growl against her lips between kisses. “You're attracted to a man who would kill for you. Who would die for you. Nothing wrong with that, lass.”
“Ashland—” She moans my name. I've imagined that sound a thousand times, but reality is so much better.
“I've wanted to do this for so fucking long,” I murmur, my hands sliding down her sides, memorizing every curve. “Touch you. Taste you. Make you mine.”
“I'm not—” She gasps when I bite down gently on her neck. “I need some time.”
I pull back immediately, searching her eyes. “I know. I won't push you, lass. We'll go at your pace.”
Even though it's killing me. Even though I'm so hard it hurts. Even though I want nothing more than to carry her to my bed and spend the next twelve hours learning every inch of her body.
Even though I can already taste her on my tongue, sweet and perfect and mine. I imagine spreading her thighs wide, holding them open when she tries to close them because it's too much, too intense. Watching her face as I taste her for the first time, seeing her eyes go dark and desperate. The way she'd gasp and squirm, those delicate fingers digging into my scalp hard enough to hurt, while I devour her like a man starved. Because I am. Six years of celibacy, six years of wanting only her, and she's right here, soft and willing in my arms.
How she'd taste flooding my mouth when I push my tongue inside her, when I suck her clit until she's writhing. The gorgeous sight of her back bowing off the bed, her thighs trembling against my shoulders as I hold her down and make her take it. How she'd come on my face, clenching and pulsing and crying my name, while I lick her through it and then keep going because once won't be nearly enough. Not after six years of dreaming about this exact moment.