Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
As I clutched my keys in hand, I smelled the salt of the lake, the sweet stickiness of the maple trees, and the muskiness of the damp, earthy soil.
It was in this moment that I felt I was no longer controlling my body. My mind took the back seat as I put one foot in front of the other, and the gravel crunched beneath my Air Maxes.
I walked along the wooden porch until I found the front door. It was painted black, which was a nice contrast to all the wood. I pressed the doorbell with my thumb as my pulse rattled in my ears, and my hands grew slick with sweat. I had the entry code, but I didn’t have the courage to just walk right in. Deke and I weren’t there yet . . . were we?
Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, then a curtain near the window shifted so someone could peek out. Just as quickly, the locks of the door clinked, and it swung open.
My breathing slowed—as well as my heart—when I looked into Deke’s deep-brown eyes. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of gray basketball shorts that did nothing to hide his bulging print.
His chest was a delicious, satiny brown, and I studied every single detail of him in what was left of the daylight. The sharp collarbones followed by the pecs below them. His dark-brown nipples and how they were positioned perfectly on his chest. The six-pack of muscles on his abdomen leading to a carved V hidden beneath the thin material of his shorts.
He smelled like men’s bodywash—a sensual, warm, earthy scent—along with a subtle hint of cocoa butter.
When I found his eyes again, he smiled a little, as if he had to take caution—like if he smiled too hard, he might risk me walking away. But I wasn’t walking away. I was here, and as it digested, I realized there was no going back.
And perhaps that’s why my heart was beating so chaotically and why I was so afraid to come here in the first place. Because deep down, I knew this weekend was going to either push us closer together or tear us apart, and I didn’t want it to come to either of those outcomes. I just wanted us to exist in the same world and breathe the same air.
I wanted us to just be.
Regardless of what I wanted, I had to cherish this time with him and be grateful for it. There were thousands of women in the world he could’ve picked to be at the lake house, but he chose me. That had to mean something.
I took a step closer, and his face softened. He brought a hand up and slid the pad of his thumb over my mouth, then carried that hand over until it was cupping the side of my face.
A sigh rippled out of me, and I buried my face into his palm, grabbing his inked forearm, silently begging him not to take this comfort away. His hand slipped through mine, and I swallowed hard as I stared up at him, studying the cognac flecks in his eyes.
With a crooked white smile, he said, “Come here,” then his hand cupped my waist, and he reeled me in. I was left with no choice but to drop my bags at the door and sink into his arms.
I was hungry for his lips, feeling complete satisfaction when they landed on mine, and he kissed me fiercely, hungrily, like he’d been craving the taste of my mouth.
He stumbled backward into the house and picked me up in his arms. When he kicked the door shut, I didn’t know where he was taking me, nor did I care. My butt landed on something hard and cold, and he snatched his lips away to kiss my throat.
As my head fell back, I saw we were in a spacious kitchen. He had me on the countertop and was deep between my legs, leaving no gaps between us.
We were both in a frenzy then, hurrying to take my leggings off, to remove my jacket. He helped me discard the panties, then pulled my shirt over my head, revealing my white lace bra. When he caught sight of it, he marveled at it for a moment before diving back in and kissing me.
He shoved his shorts down, then angled the lower half of my body just right so that my legs hung over his forearms. And when he pressed the head of his dick to my entrance and sank into me at a torturous pace, I lost it. He sank all the way until he was balls deep and kept his hips completely still. A throaty groan was stuck in his throat as he eyed me.
Damn. I loved it when he did that. The first stroke in, keeping it there so we could both feel it, to prove this was real—that this was happening. I clasped his face in my hands as he drew his hips back to slam into me, and he kept going this way, our skin clapping, our tongues overlapping, our moans and groans floating up to the vaulted ceilings.