Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
His lips flatten into a harsh line, a heavy exhale pressing past his nostrils, making them flare and then his arms are around me, my feet off the floor, and his face buried in my neck.
He inhales deeply, and a shudder runs through me as my hands loop around his neck, bringing him closer, squeezing him tighter.
I don’t know how long we stay like this, our limbs wrapped around each other, our hearts pressed against each other’s, but when he pulls away, it still feels like too soon. My forehead falls to his chest, and I don’t realize I’m crying until the tears fall along my wrist, my palms flat against his pecs. If this were to happen months ago, I’d hastily wipe away the evidence of the turmoil within me, but we’re past that and I don’t have it in me to care. A part of me thinks that that’s the only reason the tears came. Because he’s here, against me. He’s holding on to me, even if his touch is lighter now and even if the tension is returning to his muscles with each passing second. He’s still here.
That reminds me …
“Where are we?” I whisper.
Bastian takes two steps back until he’s nearly flush with the wall of windows behind him. His brows pull in and he looks away, so I glance around the space, realizing the suite we are in is no average suite.
It’s lavish and littered with high-end design and crystal decanters.
“Brayshaw,” he shares, his tone clipped, and finally, his eyes return. The hint of softness that slipped through is nowhere to be found, the color fading, nearly overtaken by black fury.
“What happened?”
A scoffed laugh leaves him, and he shakes his head, a little of that anger now pointed at me.
“When are we talking about here, Rich Girl? What happened the night you kicked me out of the gala when you should have said fuck the world? What happened the night after that? Week after that? Are we talking the last few months? Or you want to talk about yesterday when I grabbed you or why I brought you here? Be a little more specific for me, huh?”
“I want to know all of those things and everything in between. Is that specific enough?” If he wants to fight, we can fight. I’ll take the anger from him. I’ll take anything he gives and I’ll ask for more.
His eyes narrow and he shakes his head a second time, turning and looking out the window at the small patio decorated with roses and vines. “I can tell you right now you won’t like half the answers to those questions.”
“I want them anyway.” I need them. Desperately.
For the first time ever, I feel like an outsider in my world, clueless as to what’s going on and unsure who to trust or what to do. I need to go home and find my dad and protect my sister and … deal with what happened to Sai, with what I did to Sai.
I can’t do any of that in this moment, so yes, I want his answers, if only to keep from falling to my knees. I can’t do that right now, not when it’s clear Bastian might need someone to hold him up.
“Yeah?” He glances at me over his shoulder. “How’s it feel to want and not get?”
I refuse to feel embarrassed, so I give him the honest answer because that’s the only one he’s interested in.
“Like shit. Like losing. Like lacking in every aspect of everything. It has felt like breathing with one lung in a room steamed with chlorine and acid, like walking on broken ankles and sleeping on spikes. That’s what I’ve felt like,” I tell him. “That’s what missing you feels like.”
I’m not exactly sure what he expected me to say, but I know that wasn’t it.
He knew I missed him; he knew I was going out of my mind and couldn’t do a thing about it because I told him so with fewer words. There are no less than twenty texts sitting in our message thread to prove it and we both know that. He knew and I’m almost positive that’s exactly how he wanted it.
I take a step toward him, his eyes narrowed and flicking between mine. “And being denied or forgotten by you?” My brows lift. “That feels like a brand on my skin, over every inch of it. It’s like burning flesh, painful and raw and without remedy. It’s been like living with the spokes of a Taser buried in my skin, the button frozen in the on position and the battery everlasting. That’s what being unwanted by you feels like. Literal torture, actual physical pain that won’t go away and I didn’t even want it to because I knew I deserved it.