Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“That means your husband is in the game.”
The mention of him made the guilt burn in my stomach. I was free to be here, free to go back to his place and ask him to hurt me, but I still felt a shadow of betrayal move across me like a rain cloud.
“And that also means he’d be irate if he knew you were here with me.”
I didn’t know how he would feel about it. He probably assumed I would hook up with someone at work or maybe with someone I met in a bar when I went out with my friends. He probably didn’t imagine I would bump into the Skull King on the side of the road.
He swirled his glass again, and a slight smirk moved on to his lips. “Good.”
We returned to his villa after dinner, and instead of entering his study, we went upstairs to the third floor, the walls covered in textured black wallpaper with dark sculptures and mirrors. He wanted every inch of his place to be marked by his presence, for any visitor to know he lived there alone—and he liked it.
His bedroom was like a fancy suite at an expensive hotel, a room that had its own living room with a large TV on the wall. Double doors led to his four-poster king-sized bed in the next room, sitting on a thick rug, the wood of the furniture dark, the duvet cover storm-gray.
The second we entered, my heart was in my throat, the pulse making the skin of my neck vibrate from the rush of blood. Bolton provided a luxurious life for me that gave me everything I could ever want. But the moment I was in Theo’s bedroom, I understood there was an even greater level of wealth.
Even greater level of power.
He made his way to the bar area and poured two glasses before he set them on the coffee table. “Help yourself.” He walked into his bedroom, and once he crossed the threshold, he yanked his shirt over his head then stepped out of view.
I caught sight of his skin for just a brief second.
I was so nervous, more nervous than I could remember ever being. The combination of excitement and dread and self-loathing made a cocktail of anxiety. When he asked if I wanted to come over, I said yes, and I felt like shit for that answer. But I wondered where Bolton was sleeping that night, and I didn’t want to be alone.
When Theo returned, he was just in his sweatpants, these ones black, and they were dangerously low on those narrow hips. His chest was thick like concrete, and the details of all the different muscles of his core were pronounced as if they’d been made with a paintbrush.
I let myself look, but I didn’t let myself stare.
He came close to me then grabbed a glass from the table.
His smell hit me—soap, shaving cream, pine trees.
Bolton had a completely different smell, and I wished I didn’t notice.
When he took a drink, his throat shifted to swallow. He licked his lips when he was finished with his drink then sat in the armchair, just as he had in his study downstairs. He didn’t rush me with an aggressive kiss on the mouth while his hand snaked into my hair. In fact, he was distant, as if I was a friend rather than a lover who’d come to fuck him. He hadn’t even tried to touch me, place his hand on my thigh on the drive, brush a loose strand from my face.
I wanted him to, but I also didn’t.
I sat on the couch and left the drink on the table because I’d already had too much. “Thank you for dinner.”
He stared at me, his cheek against his closed knuckles, his eyes on me.
It’d been so long since I’d done this. Gone on a date with someone then fucked them afterward. But I was glued to my chair, more unsure of myself than I’d ever been. I couldn’t even meet his stare.
“I know we aren’t going to fuck, sweetheart. Relax.”
My eyes immediately flicked to his.
“When the time is right.”
I didn’t want to relax in front of him, but I felt an invisible weight lift off my shoulders. I’d asked him to dinner so he probably assumed sex was on the table, but he didn’t make me feel pressured or obligated. “My situation is…complicated.”
His dark eyes stared at me, his knees spread apart as he lounged in the armchair.
“I’m married, but it’s an open marriage.” My eyes dropped down to the glass on the table, the one I wouldn’t drink.
“But not by choice.”
My eyes flicked back to his. “I think you’re sexy…like crazy, insane sexy…but I just can’t.” I didn’t even kiss him. Didn’t try to initiate or give him an invitation. The chains of matrimony were still locked around my wrists even though I had the key.