Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“What you said earlier, about me being here—”
“You don’t have to tell me.” Because I find I no longer care. I want her always. All ways. And if she wants to be fucked by two men, who the fuck am I to deny her that, provided I’m always one of them? If that’s why she was here, I’ll just have to man up. Then murder the other fucker afterwards.
“But I want to tell you. Make you understand. Coming here tonight, it was a mistake.” Her hand covers mine, pressing it tighter, as though worried I might pull away. How little she knows. She doesn’t need to explain herself because if we’re counting mistakes and things that ought to be explained, my confessions should probably come first.
And the pertinent word there was if.
“I don’t mean I regret it, not now. But that it was a mistake. I thought I was coming to a singles night which I’d only agreed to as a favour to Beth.” She turns her head then. Maybe she wants me to see the truth of it on her face. I press my lips to her shoulder instead because a look can go both ways. “A friend.” She laughs unhappily. “No, she’s not even a friend. Just a colleague.” A long silence follows, each of us lost to the chaos of our own minds. But then she begins again. “I want to apologise for that night in the den when I-I was a coward.”
“You don’t need to say anything.”
“But I do. Because I hid—I was frightened. The way you make me feel, Carson, it terrifies me.”
“I know. I feel it, too.” I tighten my arms as a flare of fierce yearning burns through me. I want her so much.
“I can’t be sorry I came here tonight. Not now,” she adds in a whisper as she turns in my arms to face me one more. “But you won’t ever see me here again.”
I know right here and now, I won’t ever be back here, either. And that feels . . . like sunshine hitting the corners of my soul. But I can’t explain that right now. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Time will tell, I suppose. But for now, I’m drawn to touch her, my thumb stroking where the light crests her cheekbone.
My God, she is lovely. I’ll never be able to give her up after this. Because I am the one. The one that’s her forever. She just has to see it. And she will.
“You’re staring,” she whispers, turning her head to bite the end of my thumb.
The action sparks a wave of sensation from my spine down. Does she know how sexy that is? How hard it’s made me? Again.
“How can I not stare at something so beautiful?” Her mouth is lush and ripe. The bow of her lip is highly defined and so goddamned tempting. Her bottom lip is soft and full and just begging to be kissed. I could do that. Kiss her again. Kiss away her fears and words, press my lips against hers in the promise of other things. But as weird as it sounds, I don’t need that right now. The sex was stellar—fucking wonderous—and worth waiting another five years for. But just lying here next to her, watching her. Well, it’s different. It’s nothing, yet it’s everything. And those are the moments to treasure, right?
“You don’t just have to stare,” she whispers.
“What do you suggest?” I reply with a tiny flex against her.
“The art of suggestion?” she teases, her eyes darken with a mixture of shock and desire. It’s the kind of look that short-circuits the wiring of my brain, especially as she reaches between us, her fingers trailing over my crown.
“No, darling, I think you’ll find that’s my cock.”
“Decidedly unsubtle.” I groan as she takes me in her fist. “But very supple.”
I press my lips against hers at her first tentative stroke, then rise above her as a thought enters my head.
“What are you doing?” Her voice wavers with a little laughter as I lean over her and grab a condom from the nightstand.
“I’m constructing a masterpiece.” Back on my knees, I wrap my fingers around her hip, encouraging her onto her front.
“By kissing my bottom?” This time she definitely giggles. And she moves onto her front, like a good little girl. She turns her head over her shoulder, her gaze dipping to where my hand is wrapped around my hard cock. “Did you just call me a good little girl?”
“Don’t question the creator of your pleasure.”
“Yes, you’re a regular virtuoso.” But her teasing tone doesn’t last, not as I pull her up by the hips, bringing her up on her knees. She sighs as I draw featherlight fingertips down her spine, then gasps as I rudely spread her thighs wide. As I press my crown to her silky pussy, she keens, stretching out like a cat.