Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
I shrug, not really caring in the moment, and pull my shirt over my head, tossing it to the ground.
I’m not wearing a bra.
I’m completely bare, my breasts on display, nipples automatically hardening in the cold air.
And under his gaze.
He still looks just as serious as before, but now there’s heat in his eyes, and a certain way his stance changes, like he’s trying to make himself more comfortable.
He clears his throat and walks toward me, boots echoing in the room despite the roar of the storm outside. My heart is thumping hard against my chest, though I don’t think it’s because I was attacked by a wild horse.
“You’re bruised,” he says thickly. He stops right in front of me and reaches out with tentative fingers.
Then stops, inches away.
“You can touch me, you know,” I tell him, emboldened by the liquor, made reckless by the adrenaline.
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and reaches out again. I raise my arm slightly as he gently touches the area near my ribs where the horse tried to take a chunk out of me.
“Is this normal?” I ask, craning my head to get a better look. The mark is bright red, with purple in spots, and it stings like a bitch.
“Women taking their shirt off in the barn? Yeah. A little.”
I glare at him, while internally glaring at myself for feeling the tiniest bit jealous.
You’re a fucking mess, Wells.
“But wild horses attacking and biting you?” he goes on. “No.”
“Why would it do that?”
“I don’t know,” he says, his voice even lower now, gruff enough to tickle my spine. “Something must have spooked him.”
“Spooked him? It was like he was hunting me.”
He brings his fingers down slightly and pauses, giving me a look I can’t read. A haunted one.
“Does it hurt when I do this?”
“Yes.”
He swallows again, eyes flicking down. “Didn’t break the skin though. That’s good.”
“You’re worried about infection?”
“Something like that.”
The air in the barn crackles between us and it’s not lost on me that I’m still standing here, breasts in his face. From the intensity of his gaze, I don’t think it’s lost on him either.
Without thinking I reach out and grab his hand. It’s warm against my palm, his palm warm against my skin. I slowly bring his hand up and up, over my ribs then over my breast, until he’s cupping it.
His breath hitches sharply and I have to stifle a moan. I’m acting fucking crazy but given the events of the evening, perhaps this isn’t the craziest thing to happen.
It has felt kind of inevitable.
“Aubrey,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.
I can only stare at him, lips parting, wanting it, wondering if he wants it too, wants it enough.
He does.
He grabs my breast, squeezing hard as his lips meet mine.
Kissing me with a rawness that feels like something unleashed, that wild horse of lust now running free. He presses me back against the wall, and I gasp into his mouth as pain meets pleasure in a dizzying mix.
“You sure about this?” he asks, voice rough, breath hot against my lips.
“Yes,” I whisper, before pulling his mouth back to mine.
With his other hand, he slides his palm over my stomach, down under the waistband of my pajama pants. His fingers graze the skin just above my panties, and I gasp against his mouth. He kisses me like he’s starved for it, like if he doesn’t devour me now, he never will. I’m breathless, dizzy from the force of it all, from the way his hand keeps inching lower, lower…
I press myself into him, urging him on with whimpers and sighs. He slips his hand beneath the fabric and then further still, until his fingers are exactly where I need them to be.
“Yes,” I moan, arching into him, losing myself completely.
I’m already wet, already aching for him. He groans against my mouth, deep and low, like something primal is being ripped out of him. His thumb brushes against my clit and I feel the world tilt, feel the barn around us disappear in a hazy cloud of sensation.
My hands are on him too, not nearly as deft but just as eager, snaking under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the hard muscle underneath. He shudders when I touch him, and I want to memorize every reaction, every sound he makes.
“Jensen,” I gasp as he presses into me harder, rough fingers working magic, deeper and deeper. My head falls back against the wall and it’s all I can do to keep my legs from giving out entirely.
He bites down on my neck gently—thankfully not as hard as the horse—and then pulls back to look at me. His eyes are wild and dark, his pupils so blown out they’re almost black. My heart does a stupid little flip at seeing him like this—hungry and raw and mine for this moment.