Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“Are you insane?” she hisses when I step close. When I don’t answer, she looks over my shoulder to see if anyone’s looking on. Then she leans in. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Neither have I.”
My response throws her off, like she was hoping it’d be easier to blame me for the current state of things with us. But if I’m as helpless as she is…as out of control as she suspects…
“Sorry,” I say before stepping around her to flip through my records. I don’t have a vast collection here. When I moved from the States, I gave most of my albums to my brother for safe keeping. While I’m there, crouched down, Summer goes back into the kitchen, and after I put on Let it Bleed by the Stones and make my way back to the table, she doesn’t even look at me.
She’s shut down. I pushed things too far, and my apology likely didn’t cut it. Through the remainder of dinner, I try to come up with some way to explain myself without making this too difficult for us. We still have to work together. Letting this spiral out of control is the last thing I want.
Later in the evening, once everyone is full and tired and ready to set off, Summer closes the door behind Alice then turns back to look at me, her hand still on the knob. Her face is a mask of vulnerability, her eyes wide and doe-like. Her lips are parted like she’s having a hard time getting a steadying breath. She looks completely shattered. I did that to her, and I’m about to apologize—god, she deserves an apology—but she must realize what I’m intending to do because she shakes her head.
Oh. I’ve read it wrong.
It’s not an apology she wants.
The longer I look at her, the more her gaze alights with desire. Her chest rises and falls, and slowly, I walk toward her, my feet carrying me before I’ve acknowledged what I’m doing. It’s like the building of a crescendo, a wave cresting as I reach her and drop my hands on the door on either side of her head.
No, this isn’t a good idea. We can’t get carried away in this. If I were thinking beyond this moment, I wouldn’t be touching her. I know that, but I can’t pull myself away. Not if she wants this.
Just tonight. Just tonight. The mantra is a drug addling my brain so that I can’t come up with a good reason to keep my distance from her.
Now is the moment where she should turn away, shake her head, tell me no, but she holds steady. Her eyes lock with mine. She begs me with a silent pleading look, and I can’t hold back anymore.
I bend slowly until my mouth is within reach of hers. Our lips barely graze, and already she’s under my skin. I hold off just a moment longer, giving her the out if she needs it. But then she subtly leans into me, turning up the flame. Her lips are so soft and sweet. I move my hand to cradle her cheek then press my lips against hers, because to wait for one more second would be impossible. I kiss her because I’m desperate to know what summer tastes like.
She gasps and her hands rise up and flatten against my chest. I worry she means to push me away at first, but then the tips of her fingers dig into my shirt and she kisses me back like she’s been craving this, almost as weak with need as I am. I keep her there against the door until our temperatures run hot, until I’ve kissed her so much her lips are swollen and red. Then we walk backward as she pushes me toward the living room. We’re vacuum sealed in the moment, like whatever is happening now only exists right now. We don’t stop to talk about it, there is no signing on the dotted line. I’m kissing Summer like this is the only chance I’ll ever get. This mouth is only mine for so long, and I’ll be damned if I let this night go to waste. I tilt my head and deepen our kiss as we near the fire.
I part her lips, and her moan feeds me. She shivers when my hands slip down to the hem of her dress. The hem I played with at the dinner table. The hem I’ve wanted to lift all night. I’m impatient now. Wanting her has made me desperate. I want the soft material gone, and she’s all too eager to help me undress her.
She’s an impatient little thing, yanking the sweater dress so the fabric stretches out, and then once it’s off, she tosses it aside and I go absolutely still as I take her in. I want to look at her. I could look at her until the sun comes up, but she doesn’t let me get my fill. She’s on me, crushing her chest to mine as our mouths meet again. She’s so hot, her skin like nothing I’ve ever touched, feather-soft and searing. I drag my hands down her back, my fingers skimming the valley of her spine as she whimpers, showing me that her fragility is still there, her sweetness. She’s driving me insane. I want to keep going and I do, brushing my hands over the pale pink silk panties. I get ahold of her hips, lifting until her legs come around my waist.