Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
But here I am, and I’m starving.
At first, I only put my hand on top of his. He quirks an eyebrow and snickers softly. “What are you doing?” he murmurs, staring like he’s never seen me before.
I don’t answer, at least not in words. I don’t know what I would say, honestly. I don’t think I could put my feelings into words without coming off pathetically tongue-tied, so why try? Besides, some things don’t need words.
“Tatum…” he groans when I lean in and brush my lips against his bare shoulder. “You don’t need to do this.”
I can barely hear him over the thudding of my heart. His skin tastes clean, and it’s warm. The muscle underneath it flexes when he tries to shrug me off. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
That’s where he’s wrong. “I know exactly what I’m doing,” I whisper while cupping the back of his neck.
He groans like he’s in pain and mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like a helpless curse. I don’t care about that. His sense of obligation to Dad, his feelings about me, none of it matters. Not when I want him the way I do. I never thought I’d want anybody again. I can’t let this go.
“Touch me,” I beg in the softest whisper. I barely recognize my own voice or the need in it. There’s no pride now – what good has pride ever done me, anyway? “Please, Romero, touch me.”
He releases a shuddering breath. “You know I shouldn’t.”
But when our eyes meet, there’s a different truth. He’s as hungry as I am. As much as I need his touch, he needs mine more. I can see it, feel it. It’s right there in his flashing eyes. Let him pretend all he wants, but I know what I see.
“I know you want to,” I whisper back, pulling him in until our lips are dangerously close. “Please. Kiss me. Touch me. Help me forget. Help me…”
A growl rumbles in his chest, making the hair rise on the back of my neck before he captures my mouth, and something inside me screams in relief. It’s like he’s set a match to a very short fuse, and it takes no time before I am burning out of control, moaning helplessly into his mouth when he sweeps his tongue over my lips and plunges inside. My body is singing, my pussy throbbing, my heart ready to explode.
He buries a hand in my hair, holding my head still while his tongue works against mine. It feels so good I could cry. For the first time, I don’t know how long I’m in control. This is what I want, and I’m going to take it. No fear, no shame, none of it. I’m doing this for me.
He groans into my mouth when I start to pull him down until he’s on top of me, braced on his palms. I lift my hips, fighting for more of him and more of this. It’s been so long, too long, and now I’m a starving woman in front of a buffet, gorging herself on everything. Running my hands over his back, indulging in the feel of his muscles, raking them through his thick hair and moaning, moaning with happiness and want and joy. I’m not dead inside, like I’ve been afraid of for so long. I didn’t know how scared I was until now.
My nails drag across his shoulders and down his back until they reach his waistband. Instinct makes me tug at it, working it over his hips.
And everything crashes around me when he closes a hand over my wrist. “No.”
He lifts his head, panting, and that hungry look is still in his eyes. It’s stronger than ever, as if he’s ready to devour me. And that’s all I want. For him to take me hard, to make me forget everything but him. This. Us.
Except when I lift my head, straining for his lips, he pulls back further. “What is it?” I whisper in confusion, breathless and aching.
“We’re not doing this,” he grits out through clenched teeth a second before that lustful gaze hardens into something I recognize all too well. Regret.
Before I can hold him still, he breaks free, pushing up and off the bed, stopping once he’s standing next to it. His cock is hard as steel, jutting out in front of him. Then, for one crazy second, I think about reaching out and touching it – maybe he sees that written on my face, because he takes another backward step, his chest heaving.
“What?” I breathe, sitting up. “We both want this. I need this. I need you to touch me. Make me feel good.”
“We both know this can’t happen,” he grunts, straightening out his pants and tucking his dick into his waistband. “It’s wrong. I can’t do this with you.”