Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“The heart is a lonely hunter, Jude.”
No, no, it’s not, Mom. It’s the prey, and Célian is digging his claws deep into it.
“Get off of me,” I seethed.
His nostrils flared, but he did as I said, offering me his hand after gliding back onto his feet. I took it, still disoriented from being thrown to the ground—by him. People gathered around us on the sidewalk, watching. Célian sent a punch to the taxi’s hood, denting it in the shape of his fist.
I yelped. From this angle, it looked like he might have broken every bone in his hand, but if it hurt, he didn’t let it show. His face was back to being scarily blank and emotionless.
“Hey, man! What the hell!” The taxi driver stuck his head out his window, waving an angry fist in our direction.
“Hell is what I’m about to unleash on your ass. You had a red light and almost ran over my employee, so I pimped your ride. If you have a problem with it, you’re welcome to take it up with the team of fucking lawyers who occupy an entire floor in my building.”
The driver said nothing, tucking his head back into his taxi and cursing under his breath.
Célian looked like he was about to explode, and I had to pull him into an alleyway between two buildings and plaster him against the wall, squeezing his shoulders. His breathing was hard and slow, like the mere act hurt him.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He inhaled deeply through his nose, then shook his head. “Are you?”
“Yes. He didn’t hit me, Célian.”
The taxi wouldn’t have run me over even without his help. I knew Célian had just had a knee-jerk reaction after what he’d been through with Camille, and I felt horrible for my lack of sensitivity. The light was green, so I’d just gone for it.
“Do yourself a favor and look left and right before you cross the fucking street,” he hissed in annoyance, suddenly looking embarrassed and disturbed.
His armor clattered to the ground, and I saw him for what he was: raw and incredibly tormented over what had happened to his sister, broken by his relationships with his father and fiancée, lost in a sea of people who admired and looked up to him, but were always too scared to show him real love.
“You wanted to save my life.” I cupped his cheek, not knowing if I should, but not caring much, either.
He put his hand over mine and scanned me from under his thick lashes, his throat bobbing with a swallow. His pulse slowed under his tailored suit, and we were now breathing in sync. It was reckless to touch him anywhere but behind closed doors, but I couldn’t help it. His eyes were crushed ice—beautiful, blue, and tarnished.
He clasped my chin between his fingers and brought my mouth to his. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”
He cupped my breast over the fabric of my dress and squeezed, tonguing me ruthlessly without warning. My mouth fell open and accepted the invasion. I wrapped my arms around his neck, grinding myself against him and knowing this was not enough, not even close to it. I wanted to get rid of our clothes, our underwear, our inhibitions. I wanted to strip down to the very last item on my body, then tell him all my secrets with every thrust and kiss and bite.
And I wanted to do those things not because he’d saved me—twice—but on the contrary, because for the first time since I’d met him, I recognized that he needed to be saved. From himself.
He disconnected from me, holding my jaw between his fingers and staring me down with his usual air of privilege, thick and heavy, clouded by lust.
“Eight o’clock. A cab will be waiting downstairs. You will wear the same dress, and no bra or panties. You will be mine for the evening. You will not talk back to me, just let me fuck you the way I want to—not because I paid for your shit, but because we both need a distraction. For every sass you give me, I will slap your pussy. For every no I hear, I will deny you an orgasm. Am I clear?”
I nodded, dropping my eyes to my shoes. I loved this part. Being his in a deprived, sick, and tortured way.
“Good. Now go get me a fucking lead.”
She did.
She got me the mother of all leads.
“The Vice President, Brendan Creston, did what?” Kate sprayed her coffee all over her iPad in the conference room.
Judith Humphry was an ambitious little Chucks. She managed the workload of two people. Whenever anyone had a contact or a lead they didn’t want to chase—whether they were too lazy, too busy, or simply unsure if it would result in a dead end—they threw it her way.