Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I ignored him, sliding him against me, then down, holding him steady as I started to slide down his length.
“Oh, fuck,” Renzo groaned. “Forget what I said,” he added, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as I gave into the need within, and started to ride him.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his fingers sinking hard into my ass. “Show me how much you missed my cock,” he said, making my belly flip-flop at his words, as it always did. “I fucking missed your sweet, tight pussy,” he went on, making my walls tighten around him as I got closer. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured as my moans got higher, more frantic as I was pushed right toward that edge. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock.”
Then I did, crying out my release against his shoulder.
But he didn’t come with me.
“Not done yet,” he said when I pulled back, looking at him with scrunched brows.
Then he was hooking an arm around me, and rolling me under him on his giant couch, the weight of him familiar and so missed as my legs wrapped around his hips, and my arms slid up and down his strong back.
He watched me, unmoving, for a long moment, soaking me in. Then he lowered down, claiming my lips as he started to move inside of me.
Differently, though.
Slow.
Almost painfully so.
As his lips kept pressing into mine, his tongue teasing and retreating, the pressure increasing.
He drove me up more slowly than I knew was possible, but I was so lost in the intensity of it, in the intimacy, that my mind wasn’t even on the end, all of me just craving more.
“I’m never letting you go again,” he swore, his lips a whisper from mine. “You’re mine, Lore,” he added, pressing a little deeper, pushing me toward oblivion. “Mine,” he added as his hand reached for mine, pulling it up, and pressing it against the cushions, his fingers laced with mine as he pressed up to look down at me. “Say it, baby. I need to hear you say it.”
“I’m yours,” I said without hesitation. Because nothing had ever been more true.
I was his.
I was just waiting for him to realize.
The intensity of emotion in his gaze as I said it told me he finally understood.
“Yeah, you are. Now come for me, mouse,” he said, keeping the achingly slow pace as his lips claimed mine again.
I did come then, the pleasure a deep, slow wave that started where we were joined and spread outward, overtaking me completely.
He came with me, groaning out my name as he settled deep.
And I’d never, ever, been happier than I was right then.
Eventually, though, the knock at the door had Renzo sighing and pressing up.
“Food,” he said, lifting off of me. “Put this on,” he said, tossing his tee at me, and I was happy to slip into it, to smell his scent all over me. “I’ll be back,” he said, fastening his pants and walking shirtless to the door.
Maybe I should have felt embarrassed as I climbed off of the couch and rushed to the bathroom, knowing that his guard was out there, that he would know what we’d been up to.
I felt none of that, though.
If anything, I suddenly wanted the whole world to know.
That he’d claimed me.
That he was mine.
And I was his.
And that, this time, nothing could come between us.
“That’s a good fucking look,” Renzo rumbled at me, freezing mid-stride as I came back out of the bathroom. “Think you should just wear my clothes from now on,” he said, taking the bag to the island, and pulling out the contents. “All the options in the world,” he said, shaking his head at my container, “and you want chicken fingers and fries.”
“You forget that almost everything I eat on a normal basis is Italian,” I told him, bringing my container to the table, and popping the honey mustard container lid off. “Takeaway is for different stuff.”
He nodded at that as he opened his chicken parmesan.
“What’re you gonna cook for me?” he asked, making my belly flip-flop.
“What’s your favorite thing?”
“Anything you make with me in mind,” he said, and there was a raw kind of vulnerability in his voice that made my heart ache, knowing that this man, who showed so much potential for goodness and kindness, had likely known none of that in his own life.
Well, those days were done.
He would know all of that and more with me.
We talked then as we ate, a little clumsily at first—neither of us seemingly accustomed to this whole ‘getting to know you’ thing—but finding a rhythm eventually as we talked about my childhood. What it was like to have so many overprotective older brothers, how I lost my mom so young, how my father had gathered his grief and managed to be both parents to us afterward.