Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
He winces, and he looks so unsure, so tired. I know he’s been sleeping well lately, and that’s not something he normally does, but he probably needs a lifetime more sleep. My body hurts in all the ways I’m becoming so familiar with when it comes to Leon. The bittersweet hurt. I finally freaking get why people say love hurts, and not just in the heartbreak sense. Even the good parts hurt.
His thumb caresses my cheek, and that tiny movement transforms me into a statue, breathing just for him. “I’ve never felt closer to anyone than I do to you. That sounds terrible because I’m very close to my sister, but this is obviously different.” He rolls his eyes at himself. “God, of course, it’s different. Ugh.”
“I get what you mean.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s way too rough.
“I’m different when I’m with you, and I like it, even if I don’t think I should.” He smiles, though, and it reaches his eyes. It makes me feel like I can hope.
Now that I’ve gotten to know Leon, not having him would be like being shoved into a dark hole and deprived of everything good and fun and wonderful.
“We should probably start packing soon.” I want to put that out there. A truce—me telling him that I trust him not to hurt me.
He nods, but his eyes never leave my face, and when they focus on my lips, I know he’s not thinking about packing anything. Unless he’s thinking about packing himself into me, which might be the crudest thought I’ve ever had, maybe the weirdest one too, but it still makes my body burn, heating painfully from the inside until I’m sure I’m scarlet on the outside too.
“I want to kiss you,” he admits. “Would that be too much?”
“I want to kiss you too.” Wild heat spreads through me, hottest and most furious between my legs.
“You asked me if I wanted breakfast,” he growls, his expression turning hungry, but not for bacon and eggs. “I’m starving, actually.”
“Leon, we should probably—”
“Put you up on the counter, tear your jeans off, and spread your legs so your feet are on my shoulders and I can eat my fill of your delicious, beautiful pussy?”
Oh. My. Sweet. Smokies. With mustard.
“Okay,” I murmur helplessly.
This doesn’t feel like using sex to fix things. Or not talk about things. I mean, we talked, and we worked things out, but I’m still worried about going back to the city. I still feel like what we have is so fragile and precious and could be ripped away, leaving us both barren and heartbroken, but I also know that trust needs to be built up, and I won’t do that by trying to protect myself from potential pain. If I’m going for it, then I’m going for it.
And I was going for it the minute I told Leon that I’d fake marry him.
And probably way before that too.
17
LEON
Darby drives us back to the city. Halfway there, despite the shower that I had before we left to relax me more than to clean me, and the lingering taste of her on my lips after I devoured her on the kitchen counter, I’m already feeling a stress headache coming on.
I close my eyes behind the dark lenses of the aviator sunglasses I’m wearing. Darby might be driving, but she’s apparently also watching me. “Are you okay?”
If anyone else asked me that question, it would be annoying. With her, for some reason, it’s not nearly as bad as it was when we first got to her cabin. I only have to briefly debate lying before I tell her the real deal. “I’m good. Just a background headache.”
I can hear her hands tightening on the wheel. It makes a squeaky rubbery sound.
“I know you like classical music. Do you want me to put something on?”
I could do it since my phone is connected to the car, but I’m interested to see what Darby chooses. What does she think I like? And how the heck does she even know that I like classical? Perhaps it’s because I left the car tuned to a radio station one day, and when she went to take it for cleaning, she made a mental note and filed that information away for later, for instances like right now?
My phone is sitting on the middle console in one of the empty cupholders, and she reaches over and takes it. Before I can protest about her driving and fiddling with things, she has my favorite symphony drifting through the car’s speakers. It cuts through the angry buzzing in my brain and the anxiety in my gut, calming the thundering of my heart.
Again, I want to ask her how she knew, but it feels nice to close my eyes while the music does nice, peaceful things to me. The silence outside of it is a rare treat, and I’m content to just sit here.