Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
My breath left me as it left him.
Our eyes met.
Emotion crashed around us.
He thrust in again, a desperate moan escaping his parted lips as he found his rhythm and began to make love to me. Beneath him I fell in tune to the way he loved my body, my legs wrapping tightly around his muscular waist as our bodies began to move in perfect synchronicity.
It was beauty. It was euphoria. It was the summoning of magic. Every delicious stroke and touch, every erotic tangle of our limbs, every soft slide of warm skin against skin, they pulled me deeper and deeper into an abyss of sensation until I was completely, and utterly, lost. My climax was a slow burn. It came from the very core of me, sweet and warm, a sugary bliss spreading through my body, moving slowly until it rose like a wave and crashed over me with such force I cried out with unrestrained ecstasy.
Caleb rose up on his big arms to look down at me, emotion raw and naked on his face, his eyes vibrant with everything he was feeling. Lust. Desire. Need. He thrust into me again and his eyes closed briefly with the pleasure. My name fell from his wet lips in a desperate breath. In response, I moved beneath him and it was his undoing. A tremor ran through him and he gripped the bedding around my head as he cried out, his eyebrows drawn together, his body driving into mine—one, two, three times more, before he stilled and I felt his powerful cock ejaculating violently into me. Slowly, he brought his body down to rest against mine, his skin hot and slick, his wild heartbeat a soft pulse against me. His breathing slowly evened and cooled on my heated flesh.
When he was ready, he raised his head and looked into my eyes. “This is right. And if I have to spend the rest of my life proving it to you, then I will.”
CALEB
Life got busy.
Only a few months ago I was filling my days with tattoo work and filling my nights with drinking, hanging out with my brothers, and losing myself in the body of a woman I would never see again. I didn’t realize it then but I realized it now, I had been lonely. Now I knew what I had been missing out on and the thought of going back to that lifestyle was unappealing, uninviting, and made me wish I’d met Honey sooner.
Now, months later, I barely had time to breathe. Between dividing my time at the studio, working for the club, and spending time with Honey, there didn’t seem a moment to spare. And there wasn’t a second that I didn’t love it.
The weed fields were well underway. Sybil was thrilled that her pot production was back in play and she was a regular visitor to the fields, although I’m not sure our production manager, Luther Barbosa, didn’t want to see her as frequently as he did. Not that he wasn’t more than equipped to deal with her sharp-tongue and cyclonic personality. He was a lawyer. He was used to arguing and bamboozling, and in a weird way, I think he enjoyed debating with my feisty grandmother.
Things were going really well at the tattoo studio. I had more clients than ever, a lot of them regulars or people who’d heard about me through word of mouth. I’d even won a couple of awards for my work, which thrilled Ari because now he could use the words award-winning on all our marketing and social media advertising.
And Honey. Christ, I was falling hard for her. Everyday I woke up next to her, our bodies entwined, and I had to check that this was really my life. It was good. Almost too good to be true. The due date of our baby girl was only eight weeks away, and I was growing more and more excited with each passing moment.
The only shadows on the horizon were two things I had absolutely no control over. My brother, who was still in a bad way in a Maryland military hospital. And my crazy-ass stalker who seemed to be getting crazier by the day.
I stared at a pair of Bob Seger tickets sitting on my desk in front of me, courtesy of my bipolar secret admirer. It was a concert I’d really wanted to go to, but the creepiness left me at odds with going. I picked them up and stared at them. They were expensive seats.
My stalker. I didn’t get it. One minute she seemed smitten, head over heels for me. The next, the pendulum swung in a different direction and she hated me. Like when she sent me the black roses with all the heads cut up and chopped off.
But this week, according to the Bob Seger tickets in my hand, she loved me again.