Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“You feel what you feel because he made you feel it and he’s not stupid. He knows that. He knows. And it works in his favor, be it simply a way to get you to accept him again, or a way to distract us from whatever he has on his agenda. He has a lot to explain.”
“He did explain,” I say, a pinch in my chest that might as well be a blade. “At least for my part, he told me everything I need to know. He disowned Kasey. We both know he did the same to me.”
“I don’t believe that’s what’s happening, baby,” he says, his thumb stroking my cheek, and it’s funny how little things like a gentle caress and an endearment mean so much in such uncertain times.
“Then what is happening?” I ask, covering his hand with mine.
“I don’t know, but at least right now, I’ll say it again, screw Kurt. You’re what matters. You’re my everything, Ana. You know that, right? I cannot lose you again.”
I’d tell him I feel the same. I’d tell him how much I need him and how thankful I am that he’s here now, but I never get the chance. His mouth slants over my mouth. And then he’s kissing me again, and it’s not the tentative, trying-to-hold-back kiss he’d offered me downstairs. No, this kiss is different. It’s possessive, greedy even, a fierce addictive demand of his tongue, that is as seductive as it is impossible to resist. This is what I need. He is what I need right now.
I lean into him, press to my toes, and reach for any and every part of him I can manage to touch. Touching him is as addictive as the kiss and I can’t get enough of his sinewy muscle beneath my hands. I want him naked, but somehow that feels too complicated, and everything is just so damn complicated right now. I slide my hand down the front of his jeans and press my palm to the thick bulge of his erection against his zipper.
A low, gruff sound escapes his lips and he lifts me and carries me toward the bathroom, which I suspect is because the lock on the door of the bedroom is broken and we are about to be naked and not soon enough. He sets me down, his hands sliding under my shirt, his fingers roughly teasing my nipples. I moan against the sensation, and his mouth on my mouth, drinking in the sound, drinking in me. I’ve had moments in my time with Luke when I’ve been desperate for him, but this time is different. This time it feels like everything we are together is on the line and I don’t know why. He is here. I am here. We both want to be here.
Maybe it’s the realization that we were never in control. We never chose to travel the path that divided us. Everyone else did, and one of those people is tied up downstairs. Someone I should be happy to see, but for reasons I can’t explain, that reach deeper than his lies, that’s not what I feel. I don’t know what I feel.
And I’m thinking too much.
Luke handles that though. God does he. He drags my shirt over my head, and my bra is gone in seconds. Already he’s leaning in, suckling my nipples, sending waves of pleasure through me. My fingers dive into his hair, twisting, and not gently. His mouth is not gentle either. He suckles me to the point of pain that is an absolute pleasure. How does he know exactly what to do? How does he get everything so right? My sex clenches, and I am so wet, it’s almost embarrassing, an intense throb between my legs, where I need him nice and hard and buried deep right now. Because that’s what I want. Him inside me. Me lost in every thrust and pump of his body. Lost in him. Connected to him, so much so that there is room for nothing but him. I reach for his pants again, impatient for him, God, I need him. He cups my face and tilts my gaze to his. “Say it, Ana.”
“Which part? I love you or please fuck me?”
His eyes glow with male satisfaction, which I love, as much as I do him. Because that look in his eyes means he’s the kind of animal I need right now. “Fuck me, please,” I repeat.
He kisses me, biting my lips, pinching my nipples and it’s a brutal, sweet perfection. I’m panting when his lips part mine, and he turns me to face the sink forcing me to catch my hands on the counter. I’d complain about not being able to touch him, but he’s touching me, and that makes up for it. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and he watches me as he plays with my hard, puckered nipples, my teeth worrying my lip, eyes fluttering. But even when they shut, I can feel his hot, hungry stare, feel his lust and desire.