Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
My heart raced. “I won’t.”
“I want babies,” he continued, knocking the breath from my lungs. “I want my ring on your finger. I want you to have my back with them—” He pointed to the hallway behind me. “And with your family.”
I opened my mouth to argue that he already did, then snapped it shut again. How many times had I discussed Cian with the girls? How many times had I complained to my mom? He’d never said anything—but he knew. He knew I’d been doing it. It was impossible to miss when Frankie was making snarky comments any time Cian and I fought.
“Yeah,” he murmured as it sunk in.
“I want kids,” I replied softly.
“Two.”
“Three. No, four.”
He stared. “We’ll discuss it.”
“I’m good with that,” I replied quickly.
“It tears me up when you’re gone, baby,” he said softly.
“I won’t do it again,” I rasped. “I promise.”
He nodded slowly. “Then close the door and lose the towel.”
Chapter 14
Myla
I turned on shaky legs and softly closed the door behind me, flipping the lock.
Sex with Cian was something I’d fantasized about a million times, but I’d always imagined that it would happen organically on some night when we’d been drinking and affectionate and let things get out of hand. I’d never envisioned that I would be standing in nothing but a towel discussing babies and marriage before he’d even touched me.
It was almost impossible to turn back around.
“Myla?”
I turned to take him in. His head was tipped to the side in question, and his sandy brown hair hung around his face in wet waves. The sweatshirt he was wearing was dry in spots the cut had covered, but the rest of it was soaked, and so were his jeans. The wet fabric clung to every muscle and bulge. His hands hung at his sides, not quite relaxed. His blue eyes were intent as my gaze moved back up his body.
He was Cian. My person. My love.
Letting out a shallow breath, I let the towel fall to the floor.
“Christ,” Cian muttered thickly, his gaze eating me up. Reaching behind his neck, he ripped off his sweatshirt and T-shirt at the same time.
I stared. His chest was dusted with hair, a large tattoo of his family’s crest between his pectorals. His stomach was taught and ridged, and Kelly was inked in thick, bold letters just above the waistband of his boxers. I’d seen it all before, but it hit differently this time.
My nipples peaked as Cian reached for his belt buckle.
I moved toward him, stepping over the towel, my eyes glued to his hands. The muscles in his forearms flexed and bunched as he ripped the belt open and unbuttoned his jeans.
I let out a sound of protest when he abandoned what he was doing, but it was lost when his hands found my face and his lips met mine. I groaned deep in my throat.
Cian and I had kissed plenty of times. We’d party and end up falling into bed together, kissing and groping each other over our clothes, but we’d never done more than that. It was always drunken fumbling that left me frustrated and giddy at the same time.
The kiss was so different from anything we’d had before. We were clear-headed. Desperate for connection after the fight we’d had.
And we knew exactly where it was leading.
He tasted like cinnamon gum, and he smelled like rain.
We moved around the room with no purpose, bumping into things as we fought for more skin. His hand gripped my ass, the tips of his fingers so close to my center that I shuddered. My palms cupped the back of his head as I tangled my fingers in his hair. Still, we kissed.
I tore at the waistband of his jeans, shoving them down his thighs. My back hit the wall as he lifted me, wrapping my legs around his hips.
“I need you,” I gasped against his mouth. “Please, baby.”
He didn’t answer. He was too busy lifting me until he could reach my nipple with his mouth. He sucked it inside, his teeth barely scraping the skin, and my back arched so hard that the back of my head slammed into the wall. I barely noticed.
Cian’s head shot up. “Shit.”
“I’m okay,” I muttered, trying to guide his mouth back to my nipple. “I’m fine.”
He paused, his eyes roaming from my face to my breasts.
“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he breathed, giving his head a little shake.
I let out a squeal as he spun us away from the wall, my hands gripping his shoulders for balance.
He dropped me onto the bed just as someone knocked on my door.
“Uh, Myla?” Frankie called out, laughter in her voice.
“Go the fuck away,” Cian ordered, reaching for the waistband of his jeans.
“Just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” she said, full-on laughing.
“Get the fuck away from the door.”