Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
He grins and pulls me to his chest. “It’s not her house. It’s ours.”
“How?”
“Easy. I invested in my brother’s company and had money left over, but I knew before Dre was even done with this place that I would buy it someday for you. So, I did.”
“I can’t believe it. I’m…” I press my hand to his smooth cheek. He leans in and kisses the scars on my palm. It’s him I’m looking at when I say, “I’m home.”
He guides me to the front door, and I open the door to paradise. A clean, contemporary take on a traditional home. Light grey wood floors. White shaker style cabinets, granite counters, and a large metal farm sink on the kitchen island with seating for four.
“Is this what you imagined would happen when you first started stalking me?” I ask Nine as he follows me from room to room while I explore. The master bathroom has a clawfoot tub and small white octagon tile on the floors and walls.
“Stalking is such a strong word. I prefer tracking with interest,” he says with a shrug.
“That's the very definition of stalking,” I argue, turning to him I cross my arms over my chest in challenge. “Try again.”
He raises on the balls of his feet then drops down again. The movement causes rogue strands of hair to fall over his eye. He shakes them away. “What phrase would you prefer?” He takes a step closer. His smile widens. “Pursuing with passion? Hunting with hope?” He reaches out, and I watch as he trails the pads of his index and middle finger up my bare arm.
A shiver erupts within my spine, shaking me to my very core. I fight the urge to close my eyes at the sensation.
His voice is deep yet amused. “Trailing with a trigger?”
“You're not making it any better,” I manage to say, after having to clear my throat to get the words out. My muddled thoughts still focused on the sensation of stroking fingers across my sensitive skin.
He glances down at the hairs on my arm, now standing on end. He raises a pierced brow. “Are you sure about that?”
I gulp. “Yes.”
I crane my neck to meet his eyes. Big mistake. It only heightens my awareness of him touching me. I bite down on the skin inside my cheek to keep from groaning out loud.
“Fine.” He leans in closer and moves his hand lower. Those same fingers are now trailing up my outer thigh. Another shiver courses through me, although this one isn’t in my spine. It’s more…centrally located.
“How about…” his lips are a breath away from mine. “…looking for your lips?”
I press my lips together and shake my head.
“No?” He chuckles, cupping my cheek as his other hand inches up my skirt, rendering me breathless.
His lips skirt over mine as he speaks. His smile is now gone. His words are dark. Serious. The sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard. I'm squirming in my own skin. “Aching to be inside you?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, which is good because I couldn't form one if I tried but also because he presses his lips to mine. Roughly. Passionately. Possessively. Crushing me both body and soul as he lifts me, pushing me against the wall.
The hand up my skirt tugs aside the lace of my panties. He reaches between us to his belt, freeing himself of his jeans.
He presses a long finger inside my wet heat and slowly strokes me, stroking the spot that has me blind with need, rubbing myself on him like an animal in heat, I’m already there, about to burst apart when he lifts me up, and enters me in one long hard thrust.
I raise my hips off the wall as he fucks me furiously. Each time, he brings me closer and closer to the brink until I’m so far gone that I’m only vaguely aware of Nine groaning my name through his own release, flooding me with his warmth. On my way back down from wherever it is that pure bliss has taken me, I hear him counting. “One. Two. Three. Four…”
And so on, until he gets to eight.
I open my eyes. He smiles and drops his forehead to mine, our rapid breaths mingling between us. His voice is a ragged whisper. “Nine.”
“You always stop at Nine,” I tease.
“And I always will,” he says, pressing his lips to mine once more.
“Me, too.” My life is now my own, but I only started living again because of him. I have begun, and I will end the same way our counting game always does.
With Nine.
Bonus Epilogue
NINE
King’s tattoo studio is connected to the garage across the driveway from the main house. King is a fucking artist. If you want a tattoo that looks like something the means something, he’s the man you see. His wife Ray was his apprentice for a few years until she became an artist in her own right.