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)
“Aye…” Then I'm crying again. “All those years, Ashland, she lied to me. All those years, she thought—she told me it was my duty. Even now, she doesn’t even care that he tried to hurt me. All she cares about is the money, the family, and whatever responsibilities we have. I just—”
I cry until his tee’s soaked, and I’ve bunched tissues in my hands, trying to mop up the mess.
“Oh god, I'm sorry.”
“Don't you dare apologize,” he says quickly. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he pulls it off in one tug.
Once more, I glance at the hard planes of his muscles, the ink and scars, before he balls up his T-shirt and gently dries my eyes. He reaches across me and plucks the square box of tissues from the side table.
“Here, blow your nose for me now. C'mon.”
I mop my face and blow my nose, then release a shuddering breath.
“There,” I say, feeling lighter.
“Good. Aunt Caitlin's right. A steaming cup of tea, a good, rich biscuit, and a good cry are what's needed to soothe the soul. And then later,” he says, as if we're talking about the weather and what to order for dinner, “I'll take you to the bath. We'll take a nice shower together, won't we?” His voice is low and dark. “I’ll kiss your breasts and worship your curves, then lay you on the bed and eat you out until you forget your own name.” He kisses my cheek. “How does that sound?”
“Ashland,” I say, even as heat thrums through my veins. “Oh my god.”
He’s true to his word about the tea first.
I sit curled on the couch, wrapped in one of his massive sweatshirts that swallows me whole, sipping from a ceramic mug while he watches me with those silvery eyes. My eyes are still puffy, my nose red, but something in my chest has loosened.
“Better?” he asks in that low rumble that does things to my insides.
I nod, setting down the empty mug. “Better.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and the intensity radiating off him makes my breath catch.
“Good. Because I meant what I said, Bianca. Every fucking word.” His accent is thicker now, rougher. “I'm going to take you to the shower and worship every inch of your body. Going to make you forget everything but how good I make you feel. Understand?”
Heat floods through me, pooling low in my belly. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” His eyes bore into mine.
My cheeks burn. This is a game we play, and I love it so. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” He rewards me with a gentle sweep of his thumb over my cheek, and the praise sends a shiver down my spine. “Now come here.”
He stands, extending his hand, and I take it without hesitation. My fingers look tiny in his scarred palm as he leads me down the hallway to the bathroom. The moment we're inside, he kicks the door shut and crowds me against it, his huge body caging me in.
“Fucking years of watching you, wanting you, touching myself to thoughts of you. You know how many times in the past year I came with your name on my lips, lass?”
Oh god. The image of this brutal, dangerous man stroking himself while thinking of me makes my knees weak.
“How many?” I whisper, grinning.
“Too many to count.” His hand slides under the sweatshirt, palming my bare breasts roughly. I stifle a whimper. “Every night. Sometimes twice a day, when I saw you in those little skirts you wear. Been celibate except for my own feckin’ hand, saving myself for you like a goddamn altar boy.”
I gasp as his thumb brushes my nipple. “Ashland—”
“Do you understand what you've done to me?” His other hand grips my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. “What you are to me? You've ruined me, Bianca. Completely fucking ruined me for anyone else.”
“I'm sorry—”
“Don't.” He kisses me hard, biting my bottom lip. “Don't apologize for being everything I need. For being mine.”
He yanks the sweatshirt over my head, leaving me in just my panties, and the sound he makes is almost pained.
“Christ, look at you.” His hands are everywhere—cupping my breasts, squeezing my hips, sliding down to grip my ass. “Perfect. So fucking perfect it hurts to look at you.”
I reach for his shirt, but he catches my wrists, pinning them above my head with one massive hand. The position arches my back, pushing my breasts toward him, and his eyes go molten.
“No. I'm in charge tonight, lass. Tonight, you let me take care of you. Tonight, you give me control. Can you do that?”
My breath comes in short pants. “Yes,” I breathe out. He smacks my arse.
“Yes, what?” His grip tightens on my wrists.
“Yes… sir.” The word still feels foreign on my tongue, but the way his eyes flash tells me it was right.