Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
‘Touch me,’ he demands. ‘Feel me. Izzy. Fix me.’ He pushes his forehead to mine, looking down at me with so much hope, I almost shatter under the pressure of it. Releasing my hand gently, he keeps his eyes on mine, leaving me with two free hands that he wants so badly on him. So steeling myself for the worst, I reluctantly bring my palms to his lower back, watching him carefully, keeping an eye out for any signs. He’s expecting my touch. This isn’t the problem. The problem is when he’s going to be swallowed up in me, distracted from everything except the pleasure he’s getting. I flex my fingers.
He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he smiles proudly and swoops in with a hungrier kiss, passionate and demanding. I’m absolutely lost in it from the second our lips connect, my hands going straight for his hair and gripping hard. He groans, he shifts, rubbing himself into me, and then his hips lift and he falls to my opening. I bite his lip, keeping it in my grip as he pulls away to look into my eyes. He exhales, swivels his hips, and plunges deeply into me with a groan. My muscles lock, and I cry out, my spine bowing, my head tossed back in ecstasy. He’s deep, so deep, stretching me beyond comprehension. ‘Breathe, Izzy,’ he orders gently, stilling, giving me time to get used to him. ‘Okay?’
I nod, bullying my lungs into compliance. ‘Okay.’ I unlock my muscles and melt back into the bed, flexing my hips a little in acceptance.
He hisses. His head drops. ‘Damn, woman, you feel too good to be true.’ An expert spin of his hips drives him deep, knocking my breathing to shit again. I move my hands to his shoulders and grab him. He flinches. He definitely flinches. But he continues to rock into me, his body hard, tense, and heavy. I purr, meeting every one of his advances, digging my nails into the damp skin of his shoulders. He begins to moan, his pace quickening. I can’t help but think he’s trying to get this done with as quickly as possible, like he’s in agony and ecstasy and he’s struggling with the conflicting feelings . . . which I know he is. I slide my hands down to his arse and grab it hard. He jumps, so much he nearly slips free of me.
No. This stops now.
‘I’m not doing this.’ I wriggle under him, removing my hold, being sure not to touch him. ‘Theo, get off.’
He moves like lightning, pulling out abruptly. It makes me wince and close my legs as I watch him pushing himself up on to his knees. I sit up, brushing my hair from my face. ‘I can do it,’ he insists. His stomach is creased with taut ripples that have nothing to do with the lack of fat on him. He’s strung like a threatened animal.
‘You’re not ready.’ I’m speaking the truth, and he knows it. If he dares—
‘You always say you’re not scared of me.’ A hand rakes through his hair. ‘Prove it.’ He’s getting himself in a state, putting himself under unnecessary pressure. ‘Let me show you I can do it.’
I don’t know if it’s the stress of today, or just the stress of this moment, but I fly off the handle. ‘I’m not scared of you!’ I shout, and he retreats, shocked. ‘You could hit me, Theo. Smack me or punch me full force in the face. And I’ll get over it. I’ll heal and forgive. Because I know it’s not your fault.’ I hit my forehead with my balled fist, so fucking frustrated. He’s quiet, shocked into silence by my outburst. I’ve never seen him looking so utterly hopeless. I breathe in some calm and swallow. ‘But you will never forgive yourself if you turn on me. Please, don’t put yourself in that situation when you don’t have to. It’ll come in time.’
He looks away, ashamed, and I hate myself for making him feel like that. ‘I don’t want you to give up on me.’
I press my lips together, feeling a bulge of emotion creeping up my throat. ‘I’ll never give up on you.’ I walk forward on my knees and hold my hands out to him. He takes them, looking at me through glassy eyes. ‘I love you,’ I whisper, encouraging him to instigate the positioning of me on his lap. And he sighs when I wrap my arms around his shoulders. ‘I can do this,’ I mumble into his neck, squeezing him to reinforce my point. ‘I can hold you.’ Then I kiss his neck – once, twice, three times. ‘And this. It’s enough for me.’ I’m not lying. I’m talking sincerely and whole-heartedly. I hope that one day we can have more, but my decision to be with him isn’t riding on it. I love him too much.