Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Peter Pryor’s sick perversion and obsession had the opposite effect on me from what most people might expect. I didn’t want to shy away, to live my life smaller so I wouldn’t have to face something as scary as him again.
I wanted to live my life big. But my definition of big.
Big to me was being open to the things and people that excited me. To talk to Uncle Brodan and Theo Cavendish about the script that I was more than ready to share.
To spend every second making up for all the years I’d missed out on my beautiful family.
And to throw myself into loving Fyfe because I’d never stopped loving him, and it was foolish to pretend otherwise.
By the time Lewis and Callie were ready to leave, my heart was beating with excitement and my skin was hot. Lewis asked me if I wanted a ride home, but I casually replied, “I’m going to stick around for a wee bit.”
Lewis appeared almost pained as he glanced between me and his best friend, but Callie laughed and shoved him out the door.
Silence seemed to scream between me and Fyfe as soon as my brother and sister-in-law departed. Fyfe locked the door and turned to me. He wore his contacts today because he preferred wearing them if he was doing something physical. His Muse T-shirt sculpted to his strong body and his paint-splattered joggers hung low on his waist.
The man was so sexy, I might die from it.
Lewis’s SUV purred to life, and we heard it pulling away from the house.
My mouth turned dry, and I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
Like always when I couldn’t stand the tension, I impatiently blurted, “Well, are you going to just stand there or are you finally going to have your wicked way with me?”
His dark eyes gleamed. “That depends … do you agree this isn’t casual? That if we do this, we’re doing it for real?”
“What I feel for you is the most real thing I’ve ever felt in my life,” I whispered bravely. “It isn’t casual between us, Fyfe. It’s the opposite of casual.”
His nostrils flared for just a millisecond and then he bridged the distance between us to haul me into his arms. His lips crashed over mine and I grabbed hold of the front of his T-shirt to pull him down to me as I lifted onto my tiptoes. It was a deep, hungering kiss. Fyfe’s hand on my nape, holding me to him. His other pressed low on my back as he dominated our embrace.
His kiss was desperate, and it set every inch of me on fire. It was sexual and consuming. It was years of pent-up longing. It was the kiss we’d shared on my couch months and months ago but set free, not just by sobriety but by acceptance.
This thing between us … it was meant to be.
Fyfe lifted me under the arms and I instinctually jumped, wrapping my legs around his waist. His strong hands gripped my thighs as we moved backward. Then just as suddenly, my arse was on the dining table, my legs wrapped around Fyfe’s hips as his ravenous kisses intensified.
When his mouth eventually left mine, it was to trail along my jaw. The scratch of his beard made me shudder with need as he kissed a path to my ear. “First, you’re going to come all over my tongue.”
I shivered and Fyfe swallowed my gasp of want to give me another brain-fogging, mind-blowing, scorching kiss. God, no one kissed like him!
He was hard and I undulated against him as he ground his jersey-covered cock against me. My hands explored his taut body over the soft material of his T-shirt, and I desperately wanted to rip everything off him but even more desperately wanted my stupid dungarees off so I could feel him.
I panted for breath, my body trembling with need, my knickers damp with arousal.
As if he’d read my mind, Fyfe held my gaze as he unclipped my dungarees.
The least sexy thing I could be wearing right now.
Fyfe didn’t seem to think so. He appeared half-starved as he yanked them down and pulled them off, one leg after the other.
I sat atop his dining table in just my tank top and knickers.
Fyfe curled his fingers through my underwear, placing his palm over my pussy, cupping me. I gasped at the tantalizing sensation as he ground his palm against me, fingers flexing on my lower belly as he found me wet.
“Is this for me?” he asked hoarsely. “Just mine, Eilidh?”
The possessive touch was not something I ever thought I’d find sexy because I’d only ever belonged to myself. But I realized it was different when you wanted to belong to someone else. When that someone wanted you to belong to them, it was thrilling. I got off on it.