Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Hmm.” He ran his hands up my thighs. “I thought you were beautiful. I thought you were a little bit crazy. And I thought you were probably one of those really book-smart people who have zero street smarts whatsoever.”
I nodded. “That’s fair.”
“And I felt protective of you.”
My eyebrows rose. “You did?”
“Yeah. I remember watching you get out of your car and walk toward me in that big white dress looking so lost, so confused, and my gut instinct was to—sorry—rescue you.”
“No, I think it’s sweet.”
“Then I remember when you walked out of the garage later that night, carrying your suitcase, I kind of wanted to go running after you and bring you home with me, just to make sure you’d be safe.” He paused. “But of course, when I did bring you home with me, I started to think about things that were not safe.”
A laugh bubbled up in me. “I did too.”
“Oh yeah?” He put his hands behind his head again. “So now I get to ask you. What did you think of me that night?”
“Hmm.” I ran my palms over his chest. “I thought you looked like a movie star. I thought you were strong and quiet and manly. I sensed you were a good person.”
“You must have, since you spent the night about three feet away from me.”
I shrugged. “I felt safe with you.”
“You are safe with me,” he said quietly.
I lowered my head and slanted my mouth over his, remembering the way I’d looked at him the night we met and wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him, touched by him, desired by him. The kiss grew deeper and more intense, our hands wandering, our bodies straining against clothes. He pushed the skinny straps of my sundress off my shoulders, and I slipped my arms from the dress completely. He groaned as he brought his mouth and hands to my breasts, his cock bulging in his jeans. Weaving my fingers into his hair, I rocked my hips above it until I was panting and bursting with need.
“Should we go?” I whispered.
“No. We won’t make it home.” He flipped me onto my back and lay beside me, reaching beneath my dress and stroking me over the damp cotton of my panties. “I want you right here. Right now.”
I undid his jeans and slid one hand inside, grasping his hot, hard length with one hand. “You can have me.”
He wasn’t as rough with me as he’d been last night, and we didn’t get naked or play games or whisper dirty things to each other. But it was every bit as intense—more, even—without having a role to play.
It was just me, wanting to get closer to him.
And him, choosing to let me.
Fourteen
Griffin
Early Sunday morning, I met Cole in front of his mother’s house for a five-mile run. We jogged the first mile without speaking, letting our bodies warm up, our muscles work out the kinks.
Although I had to admit, my body had been feeling pretty fucking great the last few days. I might have been getting less sleep, but I was having the best sex of my entire life. From the first time on my couch, to the storytelling in my bedroom, to the bed of the pickup truck, to last night after dinner . . . I’d taken her to DiFiore’s, an Italian restaurant owned by an uncle of Moretti’s. It was a little pricey, which was why I didn’t go there too often, but Blair had mentioned how much she liked Italian food, so I splurged for a Saturday night out. She must have appreciated it, because we’d barely made it inside my apartment before she jumped up on me. Her back had to be killing her today, the way I’d slammed it against the thick wooden door.
I wasn’t sure if it was Blair herself—although she was fantastic in bed and out of it—or if I’d just forgotten how good it could be to get to know someone sexually, let them learn all your favorite things, discover all of theirs, explore their fantasies, share your own, abandon the frantic showmanship of first times and the need to prove yourself, and start peeling back the layers . . . let them know the real you, even if it was dirty and rough and messy and not always nice. It had been a long time since I’d felt so at ease with someone, in bed and out.
I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.
Pushing her from my mind, I picked up the pace a little.
“How’s Mariah?” I asked. “I saw her last week.”
“She told me.” He laughed. “She said Cheyenne told her and her friends you and Blair had gotten married, but it turned out to be a lie.”
“Fucking Cheyenne,” I muttered.
“She said at first she was disappointed, but then she was glad because she wants to be a flower girl at your wedding.”