Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Then, when the orgasm starts to ebb, he flips me over in one rough move, pushing me down on the bed, hiking my legs onto his shoulders. He slides back into me, and he’s unleashed. Unlocked. He’s fucking me ferociously. “I swear, Hazel,” he mutters. “Need you so much. Want you so much.”
And on that naked admission, he shudders, then stills.
I grip his ass hard, holding him tight to me, feeling all his…pent-up emotions as he comes.
That’s what was in his eyes.
Love and passion. Lust and years of longing.
It’s so surreal, and so wonderful at the same time.
After we separate and clean up, we return to bed.
“That was…different,” I say.
“A Hazel weird different?” His eyebrow arches in question.
“Weird good,” I say, setting my palm on his chest, savoring the slick warmth of his skin.
He meets my gaze, unapologetically. “I was a little…overwhelmed.”
“I noticed.”
“Yeah?”
“I liked it,” I add.
“Did you now?”
“You were very intense. It was like a whole new level of sex. Were you holding back before?”
With a sigh, he nods. “I was. I had to. I didn’t want to let on. I didn’t want to blurt out I fucking love you during sex.”
I furrow my brow, unsure if I want to hear that during sex. But if he wants to say it, I think I’d be okay with it. “Will you say it now?”
He scoffs. “No. It’s cheesy. I’m not cheesy. Also, it was a metaphor, Hazel.”
I roll my eyes, slug his arm. “I know that. I was able to identify the metaphor from the context clues. But then I wasn’t sure if you were hiding the truth inside a metaphor.”
He laughs, then runs his fingers through my hair. “It’s the truth of how I feel. And I just…had to hold back.” His laughter ceases. His eyes turn intensely serious. “I don’t want to hold back now.”
My heart pounds harder for him. “Don’t hold back anymore.”
“I won’t,” he says, then he exhales hard, a long sigh of relief, like he’s been waiting to sigh forever. It’s humbling to be the one he feels all those things for. I want to deserve all these emotions. I want to keep earning this…adoration.
“I won’t hold back either,” I say, then I snuggle against him. But I’m not ready to crash. Something else tugs at my mind. “You called me beautiful for the first time. I don’t think you’ve ever called me pretty or beautiful.”
It’s not an accusation. It’s a question.
“Because that’s not why I fell in love with you,” he says simply. “I fell in love with you for who you are, not what you look like.”
My heart clutches. It’s all soft and squishy. “You’re making this really hard,” I mutter.
“Making what hard?”
“To keep up the bickering,” I mumble.
He laughs. “Sweetheart, I intend to vex you for a very long time.”
“Is that a threat?” I taunt.
“It’s a promise. Prepare to be vexed, flummoxed, irritated, and driven mad. Also to be fucked very well and thoroughly.”
I thread my fingers through his hair. “You know how I said I won’t hold back?”
A line digs into his forehead. “Yeah?”
He sounds so concerned, but I can make that worry go away. I run a finger down that line. “I don’t hate cuddling,” I say in a confession.
And Axel Huxley cracks up. He laughs so hard the Left Bank can hear. “That is so very you.”
I flip around so my back is to his chest. “Cuddle me.”
“If I have to,” he says, then wraps his arms around me, and holds me tight.
In the morning we’re sitting at a sidewalk café, downing coffees. I’m watching the city roll by as Parisians march to work, or to fun, or to school.
Axel’s head is down, bent over his phone. He’s reading the scene I wrote.
I’m not nervous. I’m just grateful he’s here. Happy I can show it to him. It’s not long—just a thousand words or so.
He’s done quickly, and when he looks up, he’s a little dumbfounded.
Oh, shit. Was I too sappy? “You didn’t like it?”
He parts his lips to speak, but nothing comes.
Oh, god. Axel is never speechless. What’s wrong with my words? Maybe it needs a little editing, but when the feisty, bossy, chatty heroine says to the grumpy, talky, sarcastic hero that the guy for her has been in front of her all along, and she wants to try, doesn’t he get it? Oh, no. “It’s too cheesy and you hate cheese?” I ask, wincing. “Is it the hold the tuna bit?”
He dips his head, smiling, maybe embarrassed. Then he raises his face. “I just love it so much I don’t even know what to say.”
I’m swept up with so much happiness that I stand, close the distance between us, and sit on his lap. I wrap my arms around him, and I kiss his stubbly jaw. “I love you.”