Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
"You don't understand."
His hands loosened on me, sliding down my thighs to pull them from around his lower back. My heart sank as my feet hit the floor.
"I don't," he agreed, nodding tightly. There was a mask down over his features, blocking out what was real, what I knew was beneath- betrayal, pain. He moved past me, taking the suitcase and boxes and putting them on the ground, sitting off the edge of my bed, patting the spot next to him. And, helpless to do anything else, I moved to him and sat down. "So explain it to me."
My shoulders hunched forward, my elbows going to my knees. My hair, while short, provided a small curtain from his penetrating gaze.
"I just... I don't deserve all this." My tone was helpless, hollow.
"All what?"
Of course he was going to make me spell it out. He wasn't the type of man who wanted things gift wrapped with a shiny red bow. He wanted to know all the ugly buried deep inside the box.
And, really, there was only one way to describe it.
"You."
There was a heavy silence that wrapped itself around me like a blanket made of unbreathable fabric, suffocating me.
"You think you don't deserve me."
It wasn't a question. But I answered anyway.
"Nothing I have done has..."
"Stop." His voice was a bark, loud enough to make me jump and turn to look at him, surprised to find anger there.
Anger?
"You can't be fucking serious right now."
"Lazarus, the night we met, I was..."
"In a bad spot. Jesus fucking Christ. Since the fuck when did it become normal to judge someone by their low moments? We all have them. Those moments aren't what make us. What makes us is what we do after, how we raise ourselves up. Yeah, you were an addict and you're going to be in recovery for the rest of your life. So what? So was I, so am I. That isn't who you are. Who you are is the girl with a shitty father who has a hard time trusting men or believing they see worth in you. Who you are is a woman who dropped everything to care for her sick mother when everyone else washed their hands of her. Who you are is someone who got fucked over by some really goddamn awful people. You weren't some loser junkie, sweetheart. You got caught in a really common, ever-growing trap."
The tears stung at the backs of my eyes, making me almost painfully aware how much they must show for him- shining in my eyes, letting him know just how much that meant to me.
"I know I don't know all of you yet, but I plan to if you would let down those shields and show it all to me. But what I have seen so far, sweetheart? Fucking beautiful. Every little bit. And I have obviously been slacking if I haven't shown you that is exactly how I feel, what I see when I look at you. My fucking mistake. And I plan to remedy it. But first," he said, smile going a little wicked, taking some of the heaviness out of the moment, "I believe at least one of us should be completely naked by now."
"Lazarus..."
"That sounds like a volunteer, right?" he asked the invisible audience in the room before reaching out, grabbing my shirt and yanking up until my arms went straight in the air and he pulled it off of me, making sure to bunch the material up as he passed my face so he didn't touch my eye.
He wasted no time as his hands slid down my sides, snagging the waistband of my pants and panties and dragging downward, exposing me completely. His fingertips whispered up and down the sides of my thighs- a chaste contact that nevertheless sent shockwaves of desire through my system, making my breasts get heavy, my nipples harden almost painfully, and my sex tighten.
His hands grabbed my knees and pushed them open, holding them flat against the mattress as he dropped to his knees before me, pulling me forward slightly toward his waiting mouth.
My back arched as my air hissed out of me, the contact of his tongue on my clit in whisper-soft circles making a shot of need shoot from the contact and up my spine.
"Oh my God." My voice was strange- airy and high-pitched, barely even familiar to my own ears as my hand sifted into his hair and held him to me.
His hand moved between, pressing two fingers inside and thrusting lazily as he worked me with his tongue- seeming intent on driving me up slowly, torturing me until I couldn't take it anymore, and only then giving me relief.
"Lazarus, please," I whimpered, my hips moving up to meet his ministrations shamelessly.
"Mhmm," he murmured against my clit, the vibration such a strange and wholly welcome sensation that the muscles of my inner thighs shook with pleasure.