Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
He scoops both my wrists and slams them above my head, using the satin ribbons to tie me to one of the columns.
Uncle Vicious bought one of those vintage nineteenth-century poster beds with a wooden canopy, so there’s no way I can wriggle myself out or drag the bed with me.
Also, is it just me, or is Lev freakishly good at restraining people?
“Is that why you’re dipping your junk into a cheap knockoff?” I spit out as Lev double and triple ties the satin around my wrists while his jaw flexes with irritation.
“Thought you liked Thalia.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Her fucking the boy I love!” I buck back and try to kick him.
He steps back to admire his handiwork. His face is blank and serene, as though my love declaration didn’t register at all.
Lev hooks his finger into the satin to loosen it a little around my skin, then exits the room. A few moments later, he returns with a bowl laden with snow.
It reminds me that I still feel as overcooked as a Thanksgiving turkey, and I whimper in self-pity.
“I’m going to run a cloth with some snow along your body to take care of that fever, all right?” He crouches down to my eye level.
I nod. Swallow. “Lev?”
“Yes, Dove?”
“I need a distraction.”
“It took Leo Tolstoy six years to write War and Peace.” He moves the cloth up and down my body. “And the same amount of time for me to read it.”
I groan in frustration. I can’t concentrate on anything or bring myself to laugh.
“Let’s see what else…oh!” Lev says. “Abraham Lincoln was also a professional wrestler. He had a 299 and 1 record. Only one loss.”
“Armph.”
“Also, Reagan helped Barry Manilow write ‘Copacabana.’”
“Are you making all those things up?” I seethe.
“No! Google it.” Lev lifts two fingers in a scout’s honor. “Okay, don’t Google that last one. But everything else is legit.”
“Untie me,” I demand.
“Nah, it makes my job easier.”
“The ribbon bites into my wrists,” I lie.
“Oh.” Lev, being the most considerate man on planet earth, quickly loosens the tie, tossing it on the floor.
I let my arms drop to my lap and massage at the tender part with a wince.
Lev grabs a chair from a desk nearby and takes a seat in front of my bed, redirecting his attention to the stupid, snow-covered cloth and pats it across my belly like a midwife in a ’50s movie.
I’m only wearing my bra and panties and would like to be treated like an irresistible femme fatale, not a lady who is about to perish during childbirth.
“More fun facts?” he suggests charmingly.
I produce a sound from the back of my throat.
“How does this feel?” he asks, focusing on my face as he brushes the cloth up and down my torso. I fall backward on my elbows, spreading my legs in front of him.
“Like we’re reenacting Jersey Girl. Can you put some snow down here too?”
“Bailey.” He gives me a pleading, please-don’t-do-this-to-me look.
His erection can be seen from neighboring planets. He is obviously turned on and wants to do the right thing by me.
“Oh, come on. We both know you and I are going to fuck each other’s brains out now that I’m no longer uptight and you’re no longer my lovestruck sidekick. Might as well take advantage of our time together before I go off to Juilliard and you go off to play college football because you’re too much of a pussy to stand up to your dad.”
Wow. Withdrawal-suffering Bailey is a bitch.
Lev doesn’t fail to notice that.
He grabs my foot and places it on his hard thigh, running the cold cloth down my inner thigh, teasing me. “First of all, I was never your lovestruck sidekick. You wanted someone to baby—someone to practice your nurturing nature on—so I humored your ass.” He stops right at the junction between my thigh and groin, knowing he is driving me crazy with need. “Second of all, you’re high if you think you’re going back to that school. Since you and I both know that you’re currently sober, might as well admit it’s time for a plan B.”
“What!” I shriek. “Of course I’m going back. I have a practical exam in four weeks.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I do!” I thrash and kick at his chest.
He catches my ankle and squeezes. “Stop moving.”
“No, you stop talking! Why did you say that?” And then, because apparently, I have left my faculties back in California and have zero self-control, I start sobbing uncontrollably. I jerk away from him, roll around on the bed, bury my face in my elbow, and cry.
I’m not being quiet about it, either. I’m wailing and howling, and I’m pretty sure the kids sleeping in the other rooms can hear me.
Lev confirms my suspicion when I feel his hand rubbing at my back. “Shhh. Bails, you’ll wake up Den and Sissi.”