Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“Blade?” Sweetheart? I managed to keep the second word silent, but the longer I was there the more I realized I wanted more than just another fuck with him. I’d never felt like this before, not even when I fancied myself in love with a few of the assholes I’d slept with in college.
He stirred but didn’t wake. Did that mean he knew I wasn’t a threat? Of course I wasn’t. I never had been to him, but…
“Blade.” I kept my voice soft.
He frowned. “Go away.”
“No, you need to eat dinner.”
He started to speak, but his coughing started up again.
“That’s what happens when you try to disobey me.”
He opened his eyes to glare at me. “Ass.”
I turned around and shook mine. “Later. First, you need to eat your pasta.”
He actually laughed. The sound warmed my heart as well as the rest of me. I imagined what it would be like for him to eat my ass. My cock perked up, and I hoped he didn’t notice.
He sat up, and I put some pillows behind him, even though he protested that he didn’t need my help. He frowned at the bowl I handed him. “What is this? It doesn’t look like pasta. Did Jacob make it?”
“No, I did. It’s pastina. Tiny pasta.” I expected him to be even more skeptical then, maybe to refuse it outright. Instead, he said, “You cooked for me?”
The wonder in his voice took my breath. “I did. This pasta was what I always wanted when I was sick as a kid.”
“Does anyone make it for you now?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t been sick in ages, so…”
“You should have someone to make it for you.”
We stared at each other. I told myself he wouldn’t say things like that if he wasn’t partially out of it from his fever.
“I can make it for myself.”
“Just like I can take care of myself.”
“Not now. I’m here to do that.”
“Okay.”
The tension between us eased, but the heat increased. If he wasn’t so sick, I would have been on him, shoving his clothes out of the way so I could ride him until he cried out his pleasure.
His gaze dropped to my crotch, and he smiled.
“Eat your fucking pasta.”
He brought a spoonful to his mouth. When he tasted it, his eyes closed, and he groaned. It was so simple, just pastina, milk, cheese, and butter but something about it was perfection.
“This is amazing. Thank you.”
He ate about half the bowl before he said. “I’m sorry. I just don’t have a big appetite.”
“That’s okay.” My feelings weren’t hurt. He’d complimented me and been pleased. That was all I needed—or all I needed for now.
17
BLADE
No. I wasn’t going back. It was so hot, like an inferno, and I couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air in there and no water. I wiped sweat from my face as I struggled against the men who tried to force me back into the prison I’d left forever. I would rather die than go back.
“No!” I screamed again.
“Blade?”
My name. Who was calling my name?
“Is that what you call yourself?” The men laughed at me. “We’ll make sure that’s how you die.”
I couldn’t live through that again.
“Blade!”
They were taunting me. I kicked and fought. What had they wrapped me up in?
Hands closed around my shoulders, and I struck out, knocking the person away. I heard a crash, which made no sense. The world around me was nothing but sand and heat.
“Papa Bear?”
No. Only Carlo could call me that.
“Papa Bear, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
Dreaming. Was I dreaming?
“Papa Bear?”
I opened my eyes.
I was sitting in my bed, sweat pouring off me, covers tangled around my legs, heat coming off my own skin.
“Are you awake?”
I looked down. Carlo was sprawled on the floor, a red mark on his jaw.
Oh fuck. “I hit you.”
“I’m fine. I’ve had much worse.”
Anger filled me as I thought about that. I suddenly felt more awake and aware than I had in days. My skin was clammy and sweaty. “My fever’s breaking.”
Carlo nodded. “I think it is”
“I’m so sorry. You can leave. I’ll manage. I never meant to hurt you. I…”
“You didn’t know what you were doing. I’m fine. I may be smaller, but I can defend myself in a fight, even against a man like you.”
A man like me. What kind of man did he think I was?
I tried to lever myself out of bed to use the bathroom, but my legs were so damn weak. I couldn’t stand being vulnerable like this. It reminded me too much of being a prisoner. Without food or water, I didn’t have the strength to fight back.
“Let me help,” Carlo said. “Please.”
I looked at Carlo, his face still red from my blow. It was going to bruise, to ache. It was my fault. The room spun around me.
He took my arm and guided me. I even let him hold me around the waist while I pissed. It was humiliating, but his hands were cool, and they made me feel secure, even though I doubted he could keep me upright if my legs gave out.