Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
It’s so warm. So erotic. So mind-blowing.
I need all of him. Anything less would be cruel. We’re not stopping. I just … can’t.
“I won’t wanna leave,” he says.
It takes me a second. Not leave the barn? Not leave the property? Texas? I grin. He won’t want to leave his favorite place in the world.
Me.
“Then don’t.” I draw a harsh breath when I lower all the way when he’s completely inside me. “D-don’t … move.” I close my eyes and rest my forehead on his shoulder.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. It’s perfect. I … I don’t want you to rush perfection.”
“Indie girl … I’m kinda dying here. I need to move.”
Biting my lips to hide my grin when I lift my head, I nod.
We kiss. My legs wrap around his waist while he lays me on the floor. And then he moves inside of me. Slow and deep at first, then faster. I love when he breaks our kiss to tip his chin and watch us. Watch himself moving in and out of me.
I love how distracted he gets with every inch of my body. Grabbing my ass and squeezing it, moving us together at his pace. My breasts and nipples tempting both his hands and his mouth. His tongue along my skin and exploring my mouth.
Milo releases a sexy groan when I trap his lip between my teeth.
“Indie girl …” he says on a labored breath, lifting onto his knees, hands holding my legs while he pumps into me harder and faster.
My back arches.
He spits on his fingers and smears it on my clit in slow, deliberate circles, gaze locked to mine the whole time. I come just from that sight alone. Milo curses, pounding into me several more times before he stills, head back, stretching the thick, corded muscles in his neck. His abs are tight, and every inch of him is so … fucking … perfect.
Peeling open his eyes, he lowers to his elbows on either side of me, slowly dragging his tongue up my body, eyes hooded. I feel claimed in every way humanly possible.
I stroke his hair, closing my eyes and committing this moment to memory.
The residual smell of burnt toast mixed with soap.
The warm, uneven wood floor pressed to my back.
The silky strands of his hair teasing my fingers.
The pulsing of his chest pressed to mine.
The tickle of his lips skating from my neck to my jaw.
The hum of appreciation as he continues to devour my skin with his tongue. Kinda animalistic, but incredibly sexy.
“You were made for me, Indie girl.” His teeth trap my nipple while his fingers lace with mine above my head.
In the next moment, tears burn my eyes, saddened by the cruelty of this world. Living life with a shitty hand of cards yet feeling guilty for having so much more than so many other people.
I would take less.
So much less.
Just give me Milo, and I’ll leave everything else—my car, my clothes, my bank account, food, shelter … everything. Just give me Milo.
I make the mistake of blinking. In that blink, I feel a void where he was seconds earlier.
While he dresses, Milo gives me a glance. “Stay out of sight for a while. I need to get up to his office before he sends a sniper to take me out,” he says while stepping into his boots and donning his hat.
Dragging his sweatpants up my legs, I nod.
Milo steps in front of me and takes the drawstring, cinching it tight and tying it. A simple act that feels intimate. Then he lifts my chin with one finger.
“Did you like kissing Jolene?” The second the words are out, I regret them. My heart has a way of speaking without permission from my brain.
Milo sighs. “Indie …”
“It’s okay. You probably should like kissing her.”
“I like kissing you.”
“Did you discuss the wedding?”
“I don’t want to talk about her when I’m with you.”
I frown. “We should talk about something …your brother? Your parents? What Fletcher’s holding over you?”
He drops said head, shaking it. “Indie, if this is too much for you, too unbearable, too cruel … then we stop. I’m not sure something is always better than nothing. Sometimes, nothing hurts less.”
Taking a step back, I hug myself and lean against the wood beam where he hangs his hat. “It’s too late. It’s already something, and it already hurts.”
14
THE BOSS’S DAUGHTER
MILO
“Have a seat.” Fletcher tosses his reading glasses onto his desk and leans back in his chair while I take a seat on the opposite side. “Is there anything I need to know about you and Indiana?”
I have a million answers to his question. They all involve me being an asshole to the one person I don’t have the liberty to be an asshole to. “We’ve secretly acted immature for our ages for longer than I want to admit to you. After Ruthie died, I spent a lot of time with Indie. And we’ve always had a special bond.”