Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
And when it’s over, he’s towering above me, kissing me with a wicked lick of his tongue and then whispering, “Now you know how you taste on my tongue.”
I’ve barely recovered from that intensely sexy proclamation when he says, “But now I really have to fuck you, Addie.”
I like the way he says my name as if he wants me to know he knows exactly who he is with, and that somehow matters. He scoops me up like I’m a feather, carries me to the bed, and sets me down facing the mattress.
I’m on my hands and knees then and he’s pressing inside me, so hard, so deep, and sensations rock my body. I can feel that primal part of him now, the part that just needs to fuck. The part he says needs an escape he can’t get anywhere tonight but with me. It’s wild and hard and dirty, and when he comes, grinding into me with a guttural groan, I come with him when I’ve never in my entire life had two orgasms in one night.
I’m panting when my body calms, and I expect him to pull out, but he rolls with me, cradling me against him, me in front and him behind, stroking my hair. He whispers something, low and rough, and I can’t hear him. I don’t think he wants me to hear, either.
When finally he starts to move, I catch his hand. “Creed,” but I hesitate on his name, not sure what I want to say, maybe “don’t go,” but I’m not sure if I should.
As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking he says, “I’m not leaving unless you make me.”
The relief I feel with those words is extreme, unnatural in some way I can’t even explain. There’s something happening between Creed and me, and it’s not wholly natural. But then, neither is he.
Chapter Fifteen
“I’m going to get you a towel, sweetheart,” Creed says, kissing my neck.
Only I don’t think he was kissing my neck just to kiss it. He was looking for the mark. He starts to roll away and I catch his hand. “Is there a circle? The mark?” I ask.
He nuzzles my cheek with his, the rasp of his whiskers rough against my softer skin as he says, “No. You’re safe. Hang tight. I’ll be right back.” He pulls out of me, and his words “you’re safe” root deep inside me and sit roughly. This won’t end well, he’d said. He sees himself as black as I see his eyes. I think he needs someone to see him another way. I think he needs that to be me, or he wouldn’t have come here tonight.
I twist around to find him walking toward my bathroom, which is easy to find in the small room, and naked never looked so good on a man. No wonder there are legends about Creed. It’s his body. And while I wasn’t self-conscious about my own a few minutes ago, hanging out naked while not having sex feels a bit more intimidating than when in the throes of passion.
Scooting right, I grab tissues from the nightstand, clean up, and by the time he returns, I’ve raced across the room for my gown, which I do not have on yet.
He tosses the towel in his hand toward the bed and reaches for the gown in mine. “I’ll help.” He eases it from my grip, my naked breasts between us, and while we’ve just had sex, somehow him pulling the gown over my head and letting it slink over my body is far more intimate. His hands settle at my waist, a possessive quality to them as he eases me closer. “Unless you want to be naked again, put the robe on, too, especially since I’m going to have to raid your kitchen. I need to eat. I promise to restock your supplies.”
I laugh and say, “Only a soldier would call groceries supplies. Eat what you want. I owe you for dinner a few weeks back.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Addie.”
I’m confused by this statement and its meaning, which I don’t think has anything to do with the “supplies” but before I can say so, he releases me and snatches up his pants. I’m slightly distracted as he pulls them on commando-style, and leaves them unzipped and low-slung, his ripped abs on full display. Then there is a peekaboo of dark hair reminding me of what’s below that doesn’t do much for my ability to think straight right now. Partially because he’s hot, and partially because it tells me he’s not planning to leave anytime soon.
I swallow hard and manage to say, “I’m afraid all I have are Lean Cuisines, my cheat day frozen pizza, and pints of ice cream. Not much more.”
“Sounds like heaven right now.” His gaze sweeps over me, smoldering as he orders, “Robe. I beg of you. Later I’ll beg you to take it off or just do it for you.” He delivers this line with absolute seriousness, and I wonder when, if ever, he laughs and smiles. I feel like this needs to be my mission—to make him do both. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” he adds as he heads for the door, and I have a sense that his need to eat is urgent, that kind of absolute need that could become a weakness if he’s not careful and that worries me for him.