Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
But the moment the elevator doors open and he hustles me inside, he’s attacking me. Hands, lips, teeth, tongue. I’m pressed back against the mirror and his fingers wrap around the small of my waist, hoisting me up high. My legs go around his ass and I’m ready to fucking lose it, lose everything right here.
Then the elevator beeps, the door opens.
It’s the 8th floor.
His floor.
We smile at each other, both aware of this moment, that anyone could have been standing there, and he lowers me down to the ground like I’m just a feather.
I can barely feel my feet.
I can’t feel anything except each inch of skin he’s touched.
He grabs my hand, leads me down the hall.
I’m so nervous.
Each room we pass by, I think it could be his.
I feel like every person inside knows what’s happening out here. That my innocence and lack of experience is tangible, the lamb being led to the wolf’s den.
But Laz isn’t a wolf. He may have canines in his smile, he may have a sly, dark look to him at times. But despite it all, it’s still Laz. My Laz. A friend beneath all of this animal. And if I stopped him right here in the middle of the hotel hallway and told him I didn’t want to do this, he would understand.
He stops by his room, fumbles for his key. His hands are shaking.
Could he be nervous too?
The door opens.
I step inside first, inspecting the room like I’ve never seen it before, which is ridiculous because it looks exactly like my room, only the bed is on the other side.
For some reason, that makes my heart trip.
The bed. Made up by the maid while we’ve been out.
I can’t believe that’s where I’ll end up tonight.
Hell, you might not make it that far, my brain pipes up. He could fuck you against the wall like he almost did in the elevator, maybe on the floor.
Laz closes the door behind us with a soft click.
The sound brings my attention back to him.
I don’t think I can feel my feet anymore. I’m surprised I’m still standing.
I stare at him, my eyes are big and wide, my jaw wired shut. I’m frozen.
“Want something from the mini bar?” he asks, walking past me, his hand trailing along my waist as he goes. He crouches down and opens it, pulling out a small bottle of champagne.
“Are you paying for that or are the publishers?”
“Someone is,” he says, eyeing the printed sticker on the mini fridge. “Apparently it’s one of those things where you’re charged the moment you lift it up.”
“Sneaky devils,” I say, my voice sounding unnaturally high. Maybe it’s just me. As much as I want him to keep talking, to ease us back into the people we usually are to each other, on the other hand…
I want him.
I want him and I’m absolutely terrified.
Laz gets back up, unscrews the cap of the champagne and grabs two glasses from the desk. Fills one up, hands it to me. Fills up his.
But he doesn’t take a sip right away. He watches me, eyes steady. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He looks so different here in the room, in this foreign space I’m not used to. All his clothes are black, the bed and walls and furniture are white. The contrast is so stark, it’s almost surreal.
“Marina,” he says softly. “We don’t have to do anything.”
There is weight to his words. I know his heart. I know he means them.
I nod. “I know. I want to.”
“Are you sure?” he asks. He nods at the glass. “You’ve had some drinks.”
“I’ve never felt more sober.” I pause, my breath short and shallow. Anxious. “Do you still want to?”
He smiles, gives his head a shake. “You have no idea, do you?”
“About what?”
“How I feel about you.”
Okay. I didn’t think that would cause me to sway, but it does. I reach out, put my untouched glass on the desk and lean on the edge of it.
“How do you feel about me?” I whisper.
Do you love me?
Please say you love me.
“I’ll show you,” he says. “I’ll prove it. Just as you asked.”
He finishes his champagne and comes over to me and just like that, the little distance between us closes up, the moment we had to retreat into our old roles, it’s all over.
His mouth is on mine and his hands are on me and my heart is with his and I am drowning on my feet.
“You’ll go slow?” I whisper against his lips.
“I’ll go slow, I’ll go fast, I will do whatever you ask.”
I smile against him. “That was almost a poem.”
“Almost,” he says. He cups my face in his hands. “Marina, I’ve never wanted anything, anyone, in this whole bloody world as much as I want you.”
I’m choking up.
I’m turned on.