Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
“You what?” he prods, and I notice his stubbled—bearded now, actually—jaw clenching at the end of his question.
It makes me breathe easier, his outward reaction. “I’ll do anything.”
His eyes narrow a fraction. “Anything.”
And again, my words come easier, more confident the more he lets his emotion slip free, even if it’s anger. “To get you to forgive me.”
I know what I’ve done. I know I’ve handed him all the reins. And I know he’ll make me work for it. I want him to make me work for it after how I scared him.
He lets a few moments pass in silence, and I can hear the imaginary ticking of a phantom clock. Then he moves his eyes. His dark gaze travels up and down my body quickly and almost dismissively. Then, “Thought I said I didn’t want you to wear those clothes.”
My heart drops a beat, and I have to breathe for a second before I can answer. Because I think, I think, I know where this is going.
“You did,” I whisper.
His chest moves with a breath, swelling up, becoming larger, formidable. Like the rest of him as he decrees, “You’ve got five seconds to rectify your mistake and drop ’em on the floor.”
THE OPENING OF the zipper of my hoodie is loud in this dark, abandoned place.
It might even be the loudest, louder than my own heavy breaths, if not for Peyton’s gasp followed by her tirade. “You asshole! Just when I thought you had redeeming qualities!” I hear her struggle in the background, as if she’s trying to break free of Rad and fly over to me. “Are you actually asking her to get naked? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Arsen doesn’t pay her any mind. Like he hasn’t all this time. His eyes are mean and they’re only for me. They watch me unzip my hoodie all the way before I roll my shoulders and take it off, letting it fall to the floor.
Peyton’s voice echoes in the room again. This time, addressing me: “Don’t do it, Riri. Don’t you fucking do it.” Then to Rad, “Let me go, you asshole. Just let me go to my friend. She needs—”
“Arsen,” Rad growls over Peyton. “Stop this shit right now.”
“Yes, Arsen,” Peyton snaps in a mocking voice. “Stop this shit right now and let my friend go. She has nothing to do with this.”
I want to correct her and say that I do. I may not be a Turner, but I’m a Grayson.
I’m his.
Even if for the time being; and somehow, I got in my head and forgot about that. I fucked up so big that taking my clothes off for him in front of the world doesn’t seem like a big deal. Or rather only two people, but with my body issues, they might as well be the whole universe. I can’t say anything, though. Whatever energy and willpower I have is going into fisting the hem of my T-shirt so I can pull it off.
“Don’t you fuckin’ do somethin’… you’re gonna… regret later,” Rad says with heavy pauses.
I don’t think they’d be noticeable to anyone else. Except the people who know about his speech issues. And I think it’s happening because he’s angry on my behalf. Again, I want to say something, but I can’t.
The only thing I see is Arsen. He looks so tall, so broad and large, standing in front of that dirt-streaked window. The barely there moonlight filters in and highlights the shape of his body, making him look like a phantom almost. A fever dream with a silvery silhouette.
The only thing I feel is his stare as it follows my fists pulling the T-shirt up and up and over my body. The moment it comes off, leaving me in just my bra and my jeans, my heart explodes in my chest and my skin is riddled with goose bumps. The night suddenly turns cold.
“If you stand here a second longer,” he growls without taking his eyes off me. “Lookin’ at my wife and what’s only meant for me, I’ll carve your eyes out.” Then, glancing at them, “Goes for both of you.”
Peyton screeches. Rad growls.
But I don’t pay attention to any of them. I don’t even care when Rad drags a screaming, cursing Peyton out of the cabin a moment later. I’m more focused on the fact that I don’t feel cold anymore. In fact, the moment they slam the door shut, it feels like I’ve been licked by fire. And maybe I have been.
If his eyes are flames and his stare is more like a touch.
It travels from my face, through the fluttering pulse at my neck, along my heaving chest and shaking breasts, all the way down to my jeans. I know what he wants me to do, and so I get to it. I unbutton my jeans and without much thought, push them down. I take a step toward him, but he shakes his head.