Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
“Why are you doing this?”
“I’ve had many women since Talitha.” Slowly, he pulls his coat off my shoulders. “But none made me ache the way you do.” Leaning down, he kisses the hollow of my neck, a whisper of lips on skin, though that brief touch shoots straight to my pussy.
I suck in a breath, vocal cords stuck in a vise.
“Would you like to know what I do every night after watching you?” He tosses the damp jacket onto the sofa, and I wish I could hide under it.
“No.”
“Definitely the right answer. The details would make you wet.”
He presses into me from behind, and the hard length of his cock fits snug against the swell of my ass.
“This is what you do to me. Having you in this house every waking moment, not being able to touch you…it’s driving me crazy. I can’t focus on work, and that makes me desperate.”
His tone says something else.
He’s not only desperate.
He’s dangerous.
So why am I not frightened? My inability to act, to move, to put an end to this right now is the most dangerous thing of all.
After a hard gulp, I find my voice. “Then maybe you should send me back to Liam. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your work.”
“Work can fuck right off. And so can Liam.” His hand curls around my hip, squeezing twice before letting me go. “You’re not ready now, but you will be.”
I turn to face him. “No, I won’t.”
“We’ll see.” His familiar and confident smirk transforms him back into the version of Oliver I know.
Someone aloof and in control.
Not desperate or dangerous.
And I hate that I’m disappointed by how easily he buried that raw, vulnerable part of himself.
15
I’m back in Dr. Price’s office, sitting on the edge of his pretentious settee. The velvet beneath me carries a chill, more from the atmosphere than the fabric itself. It’s the kind of cold that seeps into the bones. Even the fireplace burning in the corner does nothing to warm this place.
The shrink doesn’t speak right away.
Of course he doesn’t.
No, his pen talks for him, poised above the notepad resting on his lap. Like last time, he’s sitting across from me, and there’s a choreographed quality in the way he presents himself. Relaxed yet military-straight, every move meticulous. It’s almost theatrical.
Keeping my hands in my lap, I return his unwavering stare. The quiet between us builds, each moment chipping away at my resolve. The longer I sit here, saying nothing, the more my stubbornness frays. I’m going to lose this battle of wills, because I can’t stand to be in this room a minute more.
“Oliver thought I should come.”
Dr. Price nods. “I noticed you left the memorial the other day. What made you take off like that?”
My mind drifts to the sound of Sebastian’s name in his father’s mouth, to the man’s venomous lies, dressed in grief’s clothing.
“I left because of Mr. Stone.”
He writes something on his notepad, no doubt another mark added to whatever narrative he’s constructing about me. “You found his speech triggering?”
“Triggering?” My brow lifts. “Try infuriating. The man had the audacity to fake tears, going on about legacy and pride as if he didn’t spend every day of Sebastian’s life tearing him down. He’s a fraud of a father.”
“Grief can change a person’s perspective. Perhaps the loss forced him to reassess how he treated his son?”
I gape at him, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”
“Simply playing Devil’s Advocate. Grief can change people, as you’re well aware.”
“That man is incapable of change. The show he put on might’ve been his best performance yet.”
“You believe he was being dishonest?”
“I believe he’s evil.” I ease back against the cushions. “Like a lot of the men pulling the strings here.”
At my backhanded insult, Dr. Price doesn’t even twitch. Ever the man of composure, he jots something down, his pen scribbling hushed judgment across the page.
“How are your days?” he asks, flipping to a new page. “What do they look like?”
I let out a soft, joyless laugh. “A lot of nothing. I stare at the ceiling, watch the ocean, count the snowflakes. Sometimes I eat.”
“Sometimes?” His silver-grey eyes narrow, the point of his pen tapping a restless beat against the notebook.
“Most of the time,” I say, not sure if it’s more truth or lie.
“And your nights?”
“I sleep.”
“And before that?” A faint twitch pulls at his mouth, too restrained to be a smile. “Have you tried my control method?”
Last night blazes through my mind in vivid color, and warmth blooms on my cheeks. Oliver stood in my doorway, same as all the other nights.
No sound or shift.
Just him, holding tight to his infuriating status quo.
And me, swallowing down my moans.
Desperate to contain the inferno, I’d shoved the blanket aside before taking my nipples between my fingers, pinching hard to tame the heat. But the second I touched myself there…