Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I did, but I’m angry and I have a right to be. Unshed tears blur the sight of him. I try to get free, but he doesn’t let me go. I search his face, the forest green of his eyes that are still a mystery to me. That may always be a mystery to me because he can’t seem to let me in. Can’t seem to let me see him, truly see him, even though he’s seen me at my most vulnerable.
But when we’re this close and I can feel the heat between us and inhale the scent I love so much, the scent that’s become a refuge over the years, I feel my resolve crumbling.
“Damn you, Santos!”
“Madelena,” he starts, tone different, not so angry. I look away. I don’t want him to watch me cry. But he releases my wrist and touches my jaw, turning my face to make me look at him. “Tell me you know that I care about you.”
“Just let me go.”
“Tell me.”
Only when I meet his eyes does he drop his hand from my jaw.
“Then why did you leave?” I ask, slipping under his arm and hurrying around him, not sure why I’m running, where I’m going to go. Not sure why I’m afraid of this. I vaguely remember last night, remember falling asleep in his arms and hearing my own voice as I spoke those three little words. I thought they were a dream. I hoped they were. But I know better.
“Come here, sweetheart.” Santos’s arm wraps around my waist and he draws me back. Setting the flat of that hand against my stomach, he searches my face, wiping a stray tear, then kisses me deeply. “I heard what you said,” he says, as if reading my mind. He draws back just enough so we are looking at each other.
I blink, shifting my gaze to his mouth, his shoulder, anywhere but his eyes.
“Don’t you know,” he starts, that hand on my stomach sliding to my thigh, into the waistband of the leggings I’d put on when I’d gotten home. As he lowers himself to his knees before me, he draws them down, my panties with them. He kisses my belly button, my stomach, lower.
I suck in a breath, my fingers creeping into his hair. I mean to pry him off, but I don’t.
“Don’t you know I feel the same,” he whispers, breath warm against my clit. “Don’t you know that yet?” His eyes hold mine as he kisses, then licks, then takes the hard nub into his mouth. I’m gasping, knees trembling. “I am on my knees before you, my Madelena. All you have to do is open your eyes and see,” he breathes against me. I moan with pleasure, fingers woven in his hair as he makes love to me with his tongue. Because that’s what this is. This is Santos Augustine making love.
When I come, it’s a slow, deep orgasm that lasts and lasts. I become pure sensation, a heart beating too hard, too fast, blood rushing in my ears. And when it’s over, my legs are too weak to carry me.
Santos stands, holding me up, and kisses me hard on the mouth. He presses himself against me, lifting me, carrying me to a side table against the wall. He sets me on the edge of it, kissing me again as he pushes my legs wide. I fumble with the buckle of his belt, his slacks. He pushes my hands away to do it himself and I watch as he tugs me forward and pushes inside me.
“Say it for me. Say the words,” he says against my mouth, cock driving into me as I cling to him. The table rocks, unsteady beneath us. He draws out, turning me. I brace myself against the wall as he pushes into me from behind. “Say the words,” he tells me, his chest pressed to my back, one hand on my hip, the other coming around to hold my jaw, to keep my face turned to him as he drives into me. “Tell me again that you love me, Madelena. Because I love you and I need to hear you say it. Say it now.”
I do. I tell him I love him, and he swallows the sound, his thrusts coming harder, deeper. He moans into my mouth, the fingers of one hand dig into my hip as he nears his release. “I love you,” I tell him again, and he sets his hands over mine on the wall and closes his teeth over the curve of my neck, muttering a curse as he stills, throbbing inside me, the beats of his heart powerful against my back.
When it’s over, when we’ve caught our breath, he draws out.
I turn to watch his beautiful face, the softness in his eyes after he comes, the way he looks at me in those moments. I love that too.