Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Her eyebrows pinch together, pained, but her gaze on my mouth is just as desperate. Hot and sweet and crazy.
But strong.
So strong.
I was made for her.
“Touch me.” I rest my forehead to hers. “And kiss me and come to bed in pretty things, or nothing, or my fucking sweatpants, for all I care, because God, you look good in them.” I trail my mouth up her cheek to her temple. “And smile at me when you’re happy, and yell at me when you’re mad, and ride with me on the back of my bike in the rain.” I come back to her eyes. “Drag me to dumb shit like plays and couples’ game nights and stick your tongue in my mouth whenever possible.”
She expels all the air in her lungs, tears welling, and I can see the smile hiding behind her stubborn mouth.
Her eyes drop to my lips again, she comes in, and then …
Red lights flash across her face.
She pulls away, and I look behind me, seeing the fucking red and blue gumballs of their neighborhood rent-a-cops.
I turn back to her, but she’s moving away, a coy look in her eyes. “I don’t think you have these cops on your payroll,” she taunts.
I match her steps. “Call them off.”
“And let them think they can leave me alone with you?”
She backs up, around the stairs, and I stalk her. The front door hangs open, the frame splintered. It’s an obvious break-in. They will take me in.
“Krisjen …” I scold.
She smirks. “I’ll tell Trace.”
Like he’s her protector now. She’s daring me.
I arch a brow. “I raised that boy to share.”
“You just want your turn, is that it?”
My turn? I break into a smile, the police lights getting closer.
She falters, seeing my amusement. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
She continues to back up, and I match her step for step. “What if I’m pregnant?” she asks.
I pause, my heart beating faster. “Are you?”
“I could be,” she says. “It would be one of your brothers’.”
No.
It wouldn’t.
“It would be mine,” I tell her.
She breathes out a laugh. “Do you think Trace would agree that his child belongs to you?”
She better stop fucking talking about having anyone else’s kid.
“It would be mine,” I bite out. “Trace had a vasectomy as soon as he turned eighteen. He doesn’t want kids.”
She slows her steps. She didn’t know that.
“And Iron and Army always wrap it up,” I inform her. “I had to feel you.”
“But you didn’t come inside of m—”
I cock my head, and her chest caves.
I didn’t come inside of her … tonight.
She swallows. “You.”
Yeah.
Her breathing hitches as she backs up more. “You son of a bitch.
How could … Why did you push me away? I was yours!” She glares at me, pained. “I would’ve been yours in a heartbeat. A thousand more times! You acted like you didn’t want me in the garage that night we fixed the car. Why didn’t you say something?”
“You knew it was me.” I stop in front of her. “You always knew it was me. Do you think I didn’t notice you months ago? How you’d hold your breath every time I walked in a room? You knew it the next morning when I sat down at the table and the jolt hit your heart, because it hit mine, too.” I search her eyes. “The hyperawareness we have around each other. You knew the moment it happened that you didn’t want it to be anyone else.”
She shakes her head as if in denial.
Knocks sound on the broken door. “Hello?”
“Are you pregnant?” I ask in a whisper.
She just keeps shaking her head frantically. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“If you have my kid, there’s no escaping me, Krisjen.”
She looks up at me. “Why didn’t you say it was you?”
And my eyes fall to her pink mouth and those lips that were wrapped around me just a few hours ago.
I’m so fucking hungry for her. “There’s no escaping me no matter what.”
“We’re coming in!” a man shouts.
She wets her lips, her eyes darting between me and the door, and I wrap my arms around her. I yank open the door under the stairs, and shove us inside.
“Carsten Security?” the guard calls from inside the house. “Anyone home?”
I close us inside the dark room and back her up against the wall, her whimper falling across my lips.
“Hello?” someone calls out.
She opens her mouth, but I touch it with mine. “Shh …”
Shoes squeak against the marble floor outside the door, muffled talking, but her heat travels through my hand, and I suddenly can’t catch my breath. I want to be inside of her.
“Swamp shouldn’t cross the tracks,” she bites out.
But I take her head in my hands. “You’re Swamp now, too,” I say. “You’re ours.”
Tears fill her eyes, and I capture her mouth, her moan drifting down my throat as she gives in to it and kisses me back.