Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Roman's expression softens, and his hand seeks mine, large and warm against my chilled skin. His touch is grounding, just what I need. "So this is why you carry your Kindle everywhere you go? To escape?"
"Every book is a different world, you know? A chance to experience something new without having to step outside the room." I give him a devilish smirk. "Where do you think I learned to do that thing with my tongue?"
"Mila…" he pauses, drawing out my name as if tasting it. "You fascinate me. You're so much more than what anyone sees, and I'm…" He pauses again and swallows hard before finishing with a low growl, "…I'm damn lucky to know you."
Smiling at his words, I squeeze his hand before continuing in an excited rush, "Now that I'm old enough, I want to help pass the magic on."
His grin returns swiftly, approval etched onto his gorgeous face. "I love that," he admits. "It's fucking cute as hell and sexy at the same time."
"I want to be the one to show someone else how extraordinary they can be. How there's an entirely different world waiting for them when they need it most." In a barely audible whisper, I add, "Everyone deserves to have something magical in their lives, you know?"
"Hell yeah, they do," he whispers, his expression a dichotomy of soft and fierce. I don't think he's talking about books, though. Not even close. He's talking about me. His thumb lightly strokes my hand, and he gives me a look that feels a whole lot like coming home.
A shadow falls over me, blocking out the sun.
"Roman," I complain through laughter. "I'm never going to finish this book if you don't stop interrupting me every fifteen minutes. I hit the tab to save my place and then flick my gaze up. My mouth immediately goes dry.
Lord have mercy.
He's drenched, water droplets and sand clinging to his olive skin. His hair is plastered to his head. With the sun beating down on him, he looks like a god.
"Just checking on you," he lies, my favorite wicked smirk stretching across his face. "You look hot."
"Oh, I'm definitely heating up," I mumble, squeezing my thighs together as if that's going to help the ache deep in my core. It won't. Nothing short of having this man inside me again will soothe that pain.
I bite my lip, fighting the urge to tangle my hands in his wet, tousled hair. He smells like the ocean and something masculine and addictive. Sin. If it had a smell, it'd be him.
"Maybe I should cool you down then," he suggests, taking a step closer. Heat rolls through his hazel eyes like a pyroclastic cloud, searing me alive. His gaze drops down to my exposed legs, clad in tiny denim shorts.
I curse myself for wearing them and a bikini top today, though I'm not even sure a parka would help this man keep his hands off me.
"I can't focus with you standing there half-naked," I admit, feeling a flush spread across my cheeks.
"Then I won't stand." He flashes me a wicked grin before dropping to his knees in front of me.
My heart pounds as he stares up at me, his gaze turning somber.
"Goddamn, Mila," he rasps. "I've spent half my fucking life looking for where I belonged. I never thought I'd find it on my knees at your feet, but a motherfucker could get used to this right here."
"Roman," I whisper, my stomach turning flips.
"I'm serious." He reaches for the hem of my shorts, his eyes locked on mine the entire time he pulls them down. My breath hitches as he exposes my bikini bottoms.
"I guess I should write that thank you note," he breathes, eyes on fire with lust.
I can barely form coherent thoughts as he presses nibbling kisses all along my inner thighs. My body trembles with anticipation as he gets closer and closer to where I want him most.
"Please," I beg, unable to take any more teasing.
He smirks up at me before tugging my bikini bottoms aside and diving between my legs. The pleasure is immediate and intense as he works his magic on me with his lips and tongue. I moan loudly, not caring who might hear us. All I care about is the pleasure ripping through me like a tidal wave.
He brings me close to the edge over and over before pulling back just enough to prolong my agony. But when he finally lets me go over, the climax is mind-blowing. It's worth every second of torture.
"Yeah," he whispers against my skin as I try to catch my breath, "on my knees at your feet is definitely where I belong."
My heart flutters. He's as sweet as he is filthy. If this ends in disaster, I'm never going to recover. I'll be ninety and still living off memories of how it felt to be wrapped in his arms, safe in the knowledge that I belonged to him, even if only temporarily.