Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
And his?
I’m not brave enough yet to ask, but I pray he’s as tangled in this as I am.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Josiah
I never thought I would have this again, waking up with one arm flung across Yasmen’s hip, our naked bodies spooned together in bed. Early morning sun glares through the blinds we forgot to close in our haste to have each other. The worst part is that I could get used to this…again. Not just the sex, though damn. It’s gotta be said. The sex is better than it’s ever been, and that’s saying something because it used to be fantastic. Is it the illicit nature of this that makes it feel so incredible?
Or is it just that good?
That addictive thing that used to draw us together is back with a vengeance and making up for lost time. There’s a hook in every kiss and I’ve stopped trying to get loose.
But last night was the best so far. Kassim is camping with Jamal’s family. Deja slept over at Lupe’s. On that stealth tip, I parked in the garage and spent the night. We weren’t rushed and could take our time, not just with the buck-wild sex. We made a meal together. Broke open a bottle of wine. Talked over dinner lit by candles. It felt like a date, and that is treacherous behavior I need to check.
I watched her nightly routine, something I used to love doing. Watching as she wrapped her blowout and tied a brightly patterned scarf around her hair. Washing her face and all the stuff that goes into her skin care routine. All these rituals performed while she wore a lacy see-through gown revealing her breasts, the dark nipples poking through a bodice barely equipped to handle all that Yasmen. The plump-peach ass. Glimpses of her long legs through hip-high slits. All of it laid a brick between my legs by the time she climbed into bed beside me.
Between the memory of last night and this morning wood, I’m hard again, and let her know, pressing into her from behind.
“Wow,” she mumbles in a scratchy-sexy voice colored with humor. “Well, good morning to you too.”
“I wanna fuck you,” I mutter into the satiny skin of her neck, sliding my hand from her hip up to cup her naked breast. When I pluck the nipple with my thumb, her breath stutters and she rolls her hips into me.
“Well, come get it.”
Say less.
I lift up on my elbow and gently roll her onto her back. Sunlight bathes her face in amber, painting her lashes as shadows on her cheeks. Her mouth is extravagant, the bow finely sketched, the bottom lip juicy and kiss-swollen because I can’t ever stop kissing her once I start. The stubble from my jaw and chin left faint marks on her collarbone, the slope of her shoulders. I pull the sheet away, searching for more evidence that I’ve been there, claimed her last night. She wanted it hard and I gave it to her. It was by turns feral and tender, rough, right. So damn right.
“You just staring all day?” she asks, reaching up to trace my eyebrow with her thumb. “Or you doing something about it?”
I trail a finger down her chest, over her stomach, ending between her legs, parting her, rubbing her. I slip one finger in, finding her hot and slick. Give her another. She licks her lips and twists her hips, coaxing me even deeper. I brush the underside of her breast, sending my hand on a slow journey down her rib cage. Dropping my mouth to her breast, I set a rhythm of licking and sucking that has her grinding onto my hand.
“Si, it’s so good.”
I can’t stop watching her get hers. The way her pretty face goes slack and she bites her lip and sometimes, when it’s really good, a tear might slip down her cheek. Sometimes I wish I could cry as easily. That’s one release I haven’t experienced in years. Having this again when I never thought we would—yes, it feels hot and frenzied and wild.
But it also feels like a gift.
I can’t help but wonder…when will it be taken away from me?
It’s like she’s mine again and I don’t know what to do with that. Shouldn’t trust it. Do I feel like hers? Is she turned the hell out? Because I am, and I have no idea where this is going or how it ends any way other than me wrecked like I was when she left me the first time.
She’s loud when she comes. She grips my wrist, winding her hips, dropping her legs open when I brush my thumb over her in rapid strokes that push her over the edge. I’m transfixed watching her, wanting to stretch it out as long as I can, despite the urgent demand of my own body. Her laugh is husky, her chest heaving with the last of her orgasm.