Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 124574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 623(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 623(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
I glanced back down. They did look familiar. “I don’t get hungover. I’m an adult. I’ve learned to drink in moderation.”
His brow rose.
I thought back on the number of cocktails I’d ingested. And then on how much the room was spinning.
I took the pills.
He grinned. “Good girl.”
I frowned at the distance between us. “Now you can come sit on the sofa,” I told him, my voice thick with the reminder of the kiss. And the promise behind it.
I squirmed with the thought.
His face tightened once more, noting the squirm. “No, I can’t,” he clipped.
I tilted my head, frowning. “And why is that?”
“Because, Snow, if I get anywhere near a surface where I can get you horizontal, I’m likely to fuck you so hard we forget our own names,” he informed me, voice heavy, almost unrecognizable it was so saturated with desire. His accent had become more pronounced and irresistible.
My thighs pulsed. “I don’t need to know my name,” I told him, blinking rapidly. “Names are completely and utterly overrated. Not needed in this society. That’s what selfies are for.”
His mouth was a tight line, and I didn’t miss the way he held his body, taut like he was restraining himself. “You’re drunk. And I’ve thought about sinkin’ into you since the moment I saw you with that martini glass at that party. And every night since. In none of those fantasies did you almost fall off your shoes and inform me of how nice my walk is.” The desire in his eyes parted to give way to a glimmer of amusement. “But that little detail was nonetheless perfect.” He paused, swallowing. “When I fuck you, Snow, I don’t want it to be blurry around the edges, swaying like it is now. I want you there. All there. Remembering the feel of me inside you with crisp fuckin’ detail so I can brand you on my skin. And so I don’t feel like I’m takin’ advantage. ‘Cause I know you’d have more fight in you sober.”
“You’re not taking advantage,” I said immediately. “Or if you are, I want you to.”
He let out a frustrated groan. “Hangin’ on by a thread here, baby. I’m trying to be the gentleman my mum raised me to be, so I’m gonna go against every instinct I have and leave. You are going to finish your water, get yourself to bed and remember what I said in the morning.” His eyes burned into mine. “This is far from done, Snow.”
On that promise, he turned on his heel and walked out the door.
“Go away,” I shouted. “I’m not humaning today.”
The insistent knocking stopped, thank the Lord. It was like it was pounding on my skull.
“I’ve got coffee,” Rosie called through the door.
I immediately shot up from the sofa and moved as quickly as my body would let me to the door.
When I opened it, I snatched the coffee from Rosie’s outstretched hand and turned my back to stalk back to my place on the sofa.
I closed my laptop and moved it to the coffee table as the clicking of heels on my hardwood floors signaled Rosie following me.
I sipped the delicious brew and gave her a once-over. Her chocolate hair was no longer a tumble of curls; it was dead straight, reaching past her shoulders and shining in that horrific sunlight streaming from the windows.
Her makeup was perfect, and she had on a vivid red lip to match her red off-the-shoulder playsuit that draped in all the right places.
My hair was piled atop my head and hadn’t been washed, let alone styled. I was wearing a black crop top with no bra and silk sleep shorts, and the only makeup I had on was stubborn remainders of the night before.
“How exactly are you like that?” I moaned, waving my hand at her.
She grinned. “Well that’s easy. I’m extraordinary.”
I scowled at her. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. Like everyone else, you adore me,” she said, flopping down in my leather armchair.
I glowered at her, sipping my coffee. “I move my emotions up to tolerate you with the delivery of this coffee,” I rectified.
She grinned, sipping her own. “Now that you have the java in you, you are compelled by law to tell me what the hell went on last night.”
“Law?” I repeated, my stomach rolling slightly at the thought of the previous night. As if I hadn’t been playing it over and over again in my mind since the second I woke up.
She nodded. “Rosie law. Punishment is death by florals.”
I rolled my eyes.
She sat forward. “Oh my God. It’s the Lucy tell. You always roll your eyes when you’re hiding something big,” she exclaimed.
“I do not.”
“Do too. When you lost your virginity, and didn’t want to tell me it was to someone as cliché as a quarterback, you did that exact same thing.”