Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Natalia Cruz.
Another woman I’d never heard of. I wasn’t sure if that made this better or worse when she was just as beautiful. A stunning blonde with striking green eyes, her beauty almost unreal. Her picture was a close-up shot of her flawless face, her lips parted slightly.
Natalia:
Can’t stop thinking about last time. Ready to make it even better?
I stared, numb, as I scrolled down to find his reply.
Wilder:
If you can handle it. Don’t disappoint me.
His phone was filled with conversations with women who were flawless, and stunning, like they’d stepped out of some forbidden dream.
“Motherfucker,” I breathed.
Just moments ago, we’d been fine. I’d been lying there, blissful, warm in his arms, trying to get the feeling back in my legs because he’d fucked me so hard.
And now…
Now, it was a miracle I still remembered to breathe. I set his phone back down carefully, as if handling it any other way would shatter whatever was left of my sanity. I slid out of bed, moving as quietly as possible, and started fumbling with my clothes.
My hands were trembling, my heart pounding so loud I was sure it would echo off the walls. I yanked my shirt over my head without bothering to search for my bra, my movements frantic.
I had to get the fuck out there. I couldn’t be near him. It was taking all I had to seriously hold myself in check. The door creaked open, and I froze. Wilder stood in the doorway, towering over me at his full 6'3" height, his broad, muscular frame filling the space. He was shirtless, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips, revealing his delicious V and his toned torso, a glass of water in his hand.
He looked at my flushed face and the hurried, frantic way I was pulling on my clothes, his brows knitting in confusion.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was calm yet laced with a hint of concern, like he couldn’t possibly fathom why I was acting this way.
I swallowed, forcing myself to look away from his piercing gaze, which always seemed to see more than I wanted him to. My eyes fell to the tattoo inked into the side of his chest, standing out against his fair skin, a raven perched atop a stopwatch with a skull shadowed beneath it.
I had seen it countless times, and traced the lines of it as I laid with him. Now it seemed darker, more ominous, like a reminder of secrets he kept buried.
I had no idea where my ability to speak went, why mouth chose then of all times not to work. Normally I never shut the fuck up. When I didn’t answer, he shut the door and took a step closer, observing me carefully.
“What happened, Mint?”
I finally lifted my gaze to his again. Whatever he saw on my face, had him looking from me to his cellphone. Asshole was always too damn quick-witted. I watched the moment it clicked—the realization settled over him like a shadow. He took a slow breath, his expression shifting to something unreadable. He did that well too, wore a mask of cool composure that never cracked.
“You looked at my phone,” he stated, his voice still calm. Too fucking lax for what I’d just seen.
Anger and hurt clawed their way up. “You’re not going to deny it? The pictures, the messages?”
He continued to study me, his silence louder than any words. He ran a hand through his dark hair. It was always cut in a clean, undercut style, usually swept back or slightly tousled. There was just enough length to allow him to rake his fingers through it, which was exactly what I’d been doing when his face was between my thighs.
He placed the water on his nightstand. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh? Please do tell me what I think about the deleted text between you and that bitch-whore Amber Hughes.” Her name tasted like sour venom, each syllable twisting something painful in my chest.
“It was before you,” he admitted, his tone clipped.
Well, if that wasn’t the cherry on top of this shit sundae.
I almost gave him half a point for not lying, but then took it back because it fully dawned on me what he’d just revealed. My voice came out hoarse. “You... you fucked Amber before we got together?”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. His gaze stayed steady on mine. “Three times,” he replied, his tone cold and indifferent.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
I clung to my anger, holding onto it like a lifeline, refusing to let the tears spill. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. “And you didn’t think that was something you should have mentioned?”
“It was before you,” he repeated as if that made it better.
Somehow, that felt worse.
Everything about Amber, the snide comments, the looks she gave me any time we crossed paths, all of it suddenly made sense.