Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“Niko,” I whimper, canting my hips.
“Be a good girl. Use your words.” His breath coasts over my clit before he presses a light kiss there, whispering how pretty my pussy pulses for him.
“You’re the worst,” I whisper, swallowing down a much worse insult.
“Yes.” His attention lifts, his gaze glittering in the dim light. “And I’m going to ruin you.”
One swipe of his tongue against my clit and my body bows from the wall. A slow circle. A light flick. He groans the words to the very center of me.
I writhe and moan as Niko licks and sucks, using his lips, his teeth, and his tongue to absolutely devour me.
“You’re so fucking soft, so sweet. I want to eat you up.”
“Oh God!” I cry out, “Yes.”
“Until only sighs and bones remain.”
As he makes good on his words, I drop my hands from the wall, wrapping my fingers in his luxurious hair, I absolutely use his face to get myself off. But that’s not really true, not at his tongue works me, not as his fingers thrust—two then three, spreading me wide.
I don’t mean to come, but I can’t fight this sweet, urgent agony. My fingers tighten, the world behind my eyelids turning white, my body filled with heat and light and electricity.
Oh God.
I sag back against the cold wall, and shiver at the last tender brush of Nikos’s tongue. I glance down as he begins to pull my skirt back in place. I suppose I should be shocked. Embarrassed. Something. But I don’t seem to reach that place.
“Stay with me,” he whispers, sliding his hands around me. As he tips his head back, his lips and chin shine in the dim light.
“We said we couldn’t.” You said you wouldn’t. Despite my denials, the temptation is so great.
“You’re leaving.” His arms tighten. “Leaving me.”
I never had you I want to complain, until he says,
“Peanut, leave me with a parting gift. Spend the weekend with me.”
Silly girl, I do.
22
Van
THE MIDDLE - PRESENT
She didn’t come to me during the night. For the first time, she’d stayed true to her word. As Hugh’s birthday candles were lit, it was hard not to notice her agitation and her fidgeting fingers. As congratulations were cheered, she’d looked pained and chewed her inside lip. But she’d rallied, pasting on a smile as she’d hugged her sons and fussed around others. She even dared to look my way once or twice, in a friendly sort of way.
Meanwhile, I’d watched her as though I might see what was going on in her head. Watched as though I could crawl into her chest to wrap myself around her heart.
It’s a rare moment for me to see Isla in her family element. I liked it. No, I fucking loved it. I like to watch her at the best of times, but these moments are new. It’s rare for me to be around children. I’d found myself pleasantly surprised to have enjoyed the day I’d spent with her sons. Nurture had obviously trumped nature because the pair seem to bear no resemblance to their father.
Both boys are fiercely loyal to each other, much like the relationship between their mother and uncle. You don’t need to have siblings to understand the rarity. Hugh, the birthday boy, overflowed with joy the whole day. It was impossible not to delight in his happiness. The younger, Archie, while not as enthralled by his surroundings or by soccer, never once expressed anything but encouragement in his brother’s birthday outing. I found both boys to be open natured, kind, and bold. It was hard not to see their mother in them.
After cake and champagne and toasting, Isla disappeared, ostensibly to supervise the boy’s bedtimes. She didn’t surface again.
At five this morning, she’d arrived in the main hall, her abundant hair pulled into a neat chignon, she’s appeared at the top of the grand staircase in dark red heeled pumps and a wrap dress. Feminine but formidable, her outfit said: look but don’t touch.
Was the message for me?
We’d barely spoken on the drive to the airport and now time is running out, because the flight a short one—just ninety minutes. A period she seems content to keep her face from me as the plane’s engines drone.
“Where did you say your meeting was?” The sun, so much brighter above the clouds, shades her hair a honeyed gold. She’s wearing more makeup than usual, but the light betrays the dark shadows she’s tried hard to conceal.
“Thank you.” Isla smiles up at Melanie, the flight’s purser, as she accepts a glass of orange juice. “I didn’t,” she then answers without even glancing my way.
“We’ll be landing in London City Airport. My car will be waiting. Where would you like me to drop you?”
“Oh.” She angles her head my way, seeming to decide something. Is it to be subterfuge or an outright lie, I wonder? “That would be wonderful, thank you. Where are you heading this morning?”