Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
He does take a long moment to pull away. He does make an indescribable sound very similar to a moan that settles in my nuts, drawing them remarkably closer to my body.
“What was that for?” he asks, his blue eyes lifting to look at mine.
“I was accepting your apology,” I say, my hands trembling with the need to pull him against my body.
Chapter 7
Boomer
“I really am sorry,” I say, somehow breathless standing in front of him.
“Don’t apologize a second time, or I’ll have to accept a second time.”
I’m close enough to him to see several tiny freckles dotting the bridge of his nose. His pupils are huge, nearly blocking out all of the olive color of his irises. I don’t know if it’s the darkness or arousal that’s making them so big.
His lip twitches, and for the first time, I translate it as joy rather than some sort of challenge he wants me to face.
“I am,” I say again, my voice husky and filled with a need I’ll have to feel guilty over later. “Sorry.”
White teeth dig into his lower lip before the smile he’s trying to hold back bursts forth. There’s a victory in it, a certain type of celebration in the sexy curve.
He doesn’t move quickly, but I know he moves faster than it feels as he grips my shoulders, turning me so my back is to the wall. He presses closer, making my stomach flutter in a way I can’t recall ever feeling before.
He’s as turned on right now as I am, but where there’s a tremble of insecurity in my hands, his fingers as they brush down my cheek are filled with confidence and experience.
“I’ve never kissed a man,” I confess as he inches closer, his intent as easy to read as a flashing neon sign.
“I know,” he whispers, no level of arrogance in his voice. “We don’t have to.”
He’s giving me an out, and I sort of hate him for it. If I allow it, I can place blame on no one but myself later.
I don’t stop him as he leans even closer.
“Do you want this?” he asks, only his breath brushing my lips.
“I shouldn’t.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“God help me,” I breathe before leaning forward and closing the distance between us.
His inhalation of breath the second our lips touch settles inside of me, causing a wave of flutters in my entire body.
His lips on mine are nothing like the times I’ve kissed women, trying to ignite some spark that would make my sinful cravings shift in a different direction.
Those kisses were mechanical.
There were no sparks, no rush of electricity.
I didn’t feel those kisses in my jeans the way I do this one.
His teeth nip at my bottom lip, and I don’t even try to stanch the moan that bubbles up my throat.
I grip his shirt in my fists, pulling him even closer, whiney with need when he rolls his hips against mine. His thickness swipes against mine, and my body doesn’t care that there are several layers of fabric between us. It feels beyond amazing. The warmth of him, his hardness against my own, the cherry taste on his lips, all of it makes for the most miraculous experience.
I ignore the part of me that knows this is wrong. I’ll have to deal with the guilt and regret later. This is the part of sinning that makes it so damn hard to resist. Acting immoral never feels bad. If it did, fewer people would do it.
Breathless and pupils even bigger than before, Drake pulls his mouth back from mine, chuckling when I lean forward, chasing his lips.
“Fuck, that’s better than I could’ve imagined,” he says, his pink tongue skating out to trace his lower lip.
“I should—”
“You should come upstairs with me. Rochelle can tend the bar for half an hour.”
My first instinct is to turn down his offer because it’s what I’ve always done, but I don’t manage the words before his lips are on mine again, his tongue pleading his case, one swirl against mine at a time.
I’m putty in this man’s hands, almost losing my ability to stand on my own when he sweeps his palm down the front of my jeans.
I whimper with need, the things I’ve experienced before not even registering when compared to how he’s making me feel.
The hum of approval Drake makes as he curls his fingers around my erection is almost enough to make me embarrass myself.
He’s dangerous, not just for my soul but for my body. I’ve never struggled with addiction, but I can see how easy it would be to form an attachment to this man. Hell, some would argue I already have. What started as simple flirting, Drake smiling at me much the same way he does with nearly everyone else, has shifted over time. At first, my cheeks would heat with embarrassment, now, I don’t know that I go a full twenty-four hours without imagining him in all kinds of compromising positions.