Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
She swallows hard, tilting her head back to look up at me. Her gaze drifts across my face like she's trying to figure me out, but doesn’t quite know where to start. I don't like whatever she decides, though. It has her taking a step away from me, her expression almost…wistful.
"Well, good luck with that," she murmurs. "I should go."
I thrust my arm out in front of her, halting her. There's not a chance in hell that I'm letting her run off on me again. Not until she tells me what that look is about.
"Jareth…"
I ignore the warning in her voice, crowding her up against the side of the harvester. "What did I say that upset you?"
"Nothing. I'm not upset."
"You're a terrible liar, baby."
"I'm not lying." She rolls her eyes at me. "I just think your life is not like mine, that's all."
I process that for a minute, not entirely sure what she means. I don't think my life is like anyone's, frankly. But that doesn't mean she and I are all that much different. I'm not my job. I'm not the vineyard. I'm just a motherfucker trying to secure his future. With her.
"Why are you so determined not to like me, princess?"
"I'm not," she lies.
"Yeah, you are. You've convinced yourself that I'm chasing after you for the hell of it, like it's something I do regularly." I crook a finger under her chin, forcing her to see me. "It's not, Zoya. I don't fuck around."
"Good for you." She licks her lips, her gaze darting away again. "That has nothing to do with me."
"It has everything to do with you, and you know it," I growl, my chest brushing her tits as I lean down over her. "I don't want other women. Never have. But you? You're different."
"Well, too bad. I have a boyfriend," she mumbles.
"Right. And where is he again?" I make a show of looking around. "Because, gotta tell you, princess, you've spent more time away from him since you got here than you have with him."
"That's not your business. We don't have to spend every waking moment together," she growls. "Maybe I like my independence."
"Yeah, maybe." I pause, my lips hovering over hers. "Or maybe you're full of shit."
She growls at me, her eyes flashing with irritation. I cut off whatever hot retort she's about to spit at me by slanting my mouth down over hers. Like usual, she doesn't fight me. She doesn't even try to push me away. She makes that sound in the back of her throat—the one that makes my blood steam in my veins, and then thrusts her hands into my hair, pulling.
"We both know you want me, not him," I growl, pinching her nipple. "We both know I'm the one you were thinking about in your bed last night. Did you touch yourself, Zoya?"
"Jareth," she moans.
"Did you whimper my name into your pillow when you came?"
She shakes her head, trying to deny the truth, but I know it because I know her. Because I felt how goddamn wet she was last night. For me. I know she didn't go to sleep like that. She took care of herself, fucking her fingers right down the hall while I jerked off, imagining that scene.
"Tell me the truth," I order her, biting her bottom lip as one hand slips down her body. "Tell me that you came all over your hand last night, wishing it was my hand."
"Yes!" she sobs in frustration, pulling my hair hard.
I groan, burying my face in her neck as I pop the button on her jeans. I don't bother with the zipper before shoving my hand inside, desperate to feel her on my fingertips again. She trembles against me, moaning my name when I flick her panties aside, cupping her hot cunt in the palm of my hand. She's dripping for me, so fucking needy.
"Christ, princess," I growl, attacking her throat with my lips and teeth. "I want to hear you say my name like you did when you were alone last night. How many fingers did you use?"
"T-two."
"Like this?" I roll my thumb across her clit before slowly sinking two fingers into her up to the knuckle. She's tight as hell around them, her inner muscles fluttering and clenching. I pump them quickly, fully aware that anyone could walk around the corner and catch us. Ask me if I give a fuck. At this point, the fucking Pope could catch us, and I don't think it'd stop me. "Is this how you fucked your fingers last night, Zoya?"
"Jareth!"
"Tell me," I demand, curling them up to stroke her G-Spot.
"N-no," she stutters, her eyes glazed with lust. "It was harder, Jareth."
Ah, fucking hell. Maybe I'm not the only one who doesn't play fair, because that little confession lands like Kryptonite, weakening my knees.