Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Carla and I walk out together to the parking lot across the street.
“Someone’s waiting at your car,” she tells me, indicating the tall man who’s leaning against his Mercedes parked next to Louise.
I nod, barely breathing. “It’s okay. I know him.”
“He’s fucking hot,” she murmurs then makes her way to her sedan and drives off.
I stand there for a minute, just looking at him. Then, I take a deep breath and walk over, humming.
He’s here.
He’s waiting.
He’s been waiting.
We both have.
Like time hasn’t passed, I stop when we stand chest to chest. I reach out and touch his face first, brushing over that scar on his cheek, tracing it down to his upper lip.
He bites my finger.
I jump and laugh.
He grins.
“Thought you were just gonna call me,” I say, my shoes absently toying with a piece of gravel on the concrete.
“Wanted to see you before I went to sleep. You tired? I’m sure we can find an all-night place open if you’re hungry.”
My body tingles with heat. “Not tired. Or hungry.” I’ve never felt so alive.
His hand tucks a piece of my hair over my ear. “When I saw you this morning, I didn’t want to rush you—”
“Rush me.”
A long exhalation comes from his chest. He swallows. “Come home with me.”
“Where’s home?”
“Apartment nearby. I moved in this weekend.”
“Alright.”
He moves around his car and opens the passenger door, and I slide into the sleek leather interior.
He gets in, starts the engine, and pulls out onto the road. There’s not much traffic this late, but a few cars pass us, their headlights lighting up his features.
“You’re staring,” he says on a small laugh, darting his gaze at me then looking back at the road.
Oh, I see the promise in those beautiful eyes of his. The seriousness. The heat. I see him. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t love often, but once he does, it’s with everything he has.
“Can’t help it.” My throat is thick with a sharp, visceral, primal need to hold him. It’s been so long, so fucking long, and now he’s here, and I can’t breathe or think or—
As if he knows, he reaches over and takes my hand. “Hang on, Tulip. Almost there.”
He whips the car into a nice apartment complex near campus, jumps out, and comes around to my side of the car to open the door for me.
“Fuck yes,” he groans when I jump up in his arms and lock my legs around his waist.
“Inside,” I murmur into his neck, inhaling his scent.
He runs with me, up two flights of stairs and down the hall to a door. Fumbling around, he works the key into the lock and kicks it open.
Briefly, I see a dim room with boxes everywhere, most of them unpacked, his textbooks sitting on a desk, the TV on ESPN on mute. With me in his arms, he falls to a sitting position on a leather couch and I straddle him, my hands running over his face, touching him, fingering his hair, tracing his face, his shoulders.
He holds my eyes and lets me map out his features. He does the same, his lips pressing a hot kiss to my palm, his fingers dancing over the pulse on my wrist. His hand trembles over my heart for several long moments, his breathing rapid as he strokes up to my collarbone then around my neck, tangling in my hair. He buries his face in it and says my name, the tone layered with anguish and reverence, blended beautifully.
My legs tighten around his waist.
I can’t let go of him. My breath hitches when he cups my face. I’m underwater and I need him, I need him like air.
“Kiss me,” I beg. “Kiss me. God, please, kiss me and forgive me for leaving you, because if you don’t—”
He takes my mouth hungrily, a man starved. Our lips cling, ravaging the other, licking and sucking and nipping.
He tugs my shirt off while I rip at his, yanking it over his head.
My bra is blue and lacy and he strokes his fingers over the fabric, cupping me. I groan at the light touch. Longing and craving, pent up and banked for so long, dance and scream along my nerve endings.
“Tulip, all mine, all mine,” he says, his voice low as he dips his head and sucks my erect nipple through the lace.
I stare at his chest, my mouth drying at his sculpted muscles, the six-pack, the deep V that leads down to his jeans. I see his tulip bouquet tattoo, the script letters at the top of the pink blooms. My eyes blur. Emotion lifts me and destroys me at the same time as I trace my fingers over the words.
Tulip. Waiting for you. Always.
He gasps for air. “Tulip, damn you, damn you. Don’t ever leave me, don’t. Stay here and be mine. I did what you wanted. I let you go, I let you find yourself, and I found me too. I did, I did, but I can’t do it without you again. I can’t look at another beach or mountain or country while wondering where you are or who you’re seeing and if you still love me…” His voice breaks as he grabs my face. “Tell me you still love me.”