Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
But then it changed.
Everything changed.
Pushing those thoughts out of my head, I concentrate on the way he gently lays me down as if I were made of glass on top of our bed. My bed. The one that I had to immediately buy new bedding for because I couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping on those same sheets without him. He swipes at the throw pillows, the ones I added after he left. He always hated them, you know. Didn’t understand why you’d need to make your bed with fancy little pillows just to mess it up again at night. Anyway, those fancy little pillows he despises so much fly across the room and land in a heap on my bedroom floor.
My shirt quickly follows. With the quickness of a jungle cat and the expertise of a professional clothes-remover, my button-down shirt is practically ripped from my body, tiny buttons raining down on the bedspread. He slowly helps me out of the sleeves, never rushing or risking hurting me. No, Harrison would rather cut off his own arm than see anything cause me pain. He’s always been my biggest protector, my biggest supporter, and if there’s ever a tear in my eye, he’d make sure whoever caused it knew true pain.
At least he was. A long time ago.
But even though Harrison is big, muscular, and maybe even a tad intimidating, I’ve only ever known the gentle teddy bear side of him. The side that loves fiercely and protects viciously, and for so long, I was that sole focus. Now, he turns it on once more, but this time I know it’s only temporary. It has to be.
He pulls back and gazes down at my exposed midsection. “You’ve lost weight,” he says in a disapproving tone.
“That’s not for you to worry about,” I remind him, my words coming out in short little pants.
“Angel, I will always worry about you.” He bends down and runs his nose along my neck. “Always.”
A shiver sweeps through my body and my hands dive into his dark hair. Not wanting to think about the tenderness and meaning behind his words, I pull his face back to mine and swipe my tongue along the seam of his lips. It has the exact response it always has. His eyes dilate and his nostrils flare. He’s moments away from losing all control.
And I know just how to push him over the edge.
Wrapping my legs around his hips once more, I gyrate against his incredibly hard, exceptionally large erection. The man is hung, and the moment I grind my pubis against him, he growls, flexing his hips and rubbing in the place I need him most.
I grab at his shirt, anxious to see the incredible physique I’ve missed for nine long months. Harrison grips the back of the neck and pulls it over his head in one swift motion. His pecs flex, his abs dance, and his corded arms twitch as I drink my fill of his impressive body. Young Harrison was amazing, but adult Harrison is unbelievable. His time training and working out shows on every square inch of his body.
My hands immediately move to his chest. They glide effortlessly over the smooth skin and tangle in the light dusting of dark hair. A sense of familiarity comforts me. This is Harrison. My Harrison.
But he’s not anymore.
As if he can sense where my thoughts are leading, he bends down and takes my lips with his once more. The kiss lets me know there’s no room for thought, especially those of the past. He unsnaps my black dress slacks and slowly pulls them over my hips, without breaking the kiss. Cool midafternoon air caresses my bare legs as I shimmy out of the pants, flipping off my no-frills flats as I go. I tense the moment his hands glide down my waist and reach for my panties.
“You okay?” he whispers, concern filling those deep brown eyes.
“Yes, I… I’m just different than before.”
His eyes soften. “Different how?”
I close my eyes, fighting the embarrassment that tries to sweep in. “I just… God, why is this so hard?”
“What’s wrong, Winnie?” His eyes hold a pain that I’m not prepared for.
I steel my back and just spit out the words. “I started taking care of myself differently. Down there.”
I follow his eyes as they drop to the tiny scrap of panties I’m wearing. They’re way more risqué than the ones I used to don while married. Back then, I found comfort in low-cut bikinis or boy-cut shorts. They drove Harrison wild. But now? Now, I’m wearing the smallest lace thong I own, and there’s not a hair in sight. After the separation, I had to do something to make me feel like a woman. To make me feel wanted. Desired. No, that was never the problem between my husband and me, but it helped tremendously with my self-confidence.