Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
He works his way up slowly, up to my knees, still rubbing and kneading at a steady clip.
I bite my lip until it hurts so I don’t make more humiliatingly sexual sounds.
Though the higher he gets, the sexier this feels.
When he reaches my thighs, my legs open.
Just a bit.
Just to give him access to my thighs.
Nowhere else, obviously.
His breath is slower, but heavy now, his hands methodical, squeezing higher and higher, reaching toward my hips.
Holy shit, is he going to—
I squirm against a wet heat between my legs, my core pulsing.
Don’t judge.
There’s no straight woman on Earth who could experience this and not be ready to hurl herself at this man.
Especially after that kiss, all soul and instant addiction.
It may have lasted a few seconds—barely a moment—but it branded me from the inside out.
That’s never happened.
One tiny brush of lips basically reached my clit.
And he still hasn’t uttered one word.
I can’t tell if he’s just ignoring the fact that it ever happened—but then why is he still touching me?—or whether he just doesn’t know how to touch the subject.
“O-okay,” I stammer when his thumb drops across my inner thigh.
He’s still working muscle groups I didn’t know I had, but if he doesn’t stop, he’ll push me to an orgasm for the ages.
I stare at his face, willing him to look up.
He doesn’t even meet my eyes.
Cryptic, magnificent bastard.
Irritation floods my blood, dampening some of my arousal. “Shepherd? Did you—”
“Don’t say it,” he snarls.
One hand moves off my thigh, moving to my lips.
He pushes a finger over them with a cutting glare.
“Don’t talk, Destiny. Nothing you can say right now will do a damned bit of good.”
Eek.
I clamp my jaw shut, confusion colliding with frustration.
So, what then?
He really doesn’t want to discuss it? Or even acknowledge what happened?
What’s still happening?
I’m so lost.
I squirm again, trying to find a position where I can’t notice how wet I am.
For a second, his massaging stops.
I can’t decide whether that’s good or bad.
All I know is, whether he’s actively touching me or not, I still feel him everywhere.
“We should talk about it.”
“No,” he says bluntly. “We shouldn’t.”
“But why? I just—”
“Nothing happened, Destiny. Nothing worth talking about and it’s no one’s fault. Just a mistake caused by too many hours on the water and too much shit stirred up in our blood. What the hell is there to say?”
My nostrils flare.
He’s kidding, right?
I have so much to say, but right now, I can’t find the words.
His reluctance definitely makes it harder, and extra difficult to not pick an outright fight with him.
“I don’t know if I can just up and ignore it. After something like that, we should—”
“We shouldn’t and we won’t. I told you before, there’s nothing worth talking about.”
Jeez.
He’s seriously going to keep denying it?
“Look, Shepherd, I know you didn’t mean it to happen. Neither did I. But—”
“No buts,” he says, still not looking at me. Still touching my legs in that firm, certain, incredibly sensual way he has that makes my muscles gel and my panties damp. “I said we’re not talking, Destiny.”
I could push.
I want to push him so bad.
But he hasn’t just up and fired me, and the set of his jaw suggests he isn’t going to let me get away with a sane conversation right now.
So I change tack.
“That was you. The real you,” I whisper.
He sends me a quick, annoyed glance. “Must you keep talking?”
“No, I don’t mean—” The kiss.
I clam up.
But I reach around and fumble with my zipper, yanking it down my back and exposing my bare skin to the air.
His gaze flashes to my red bikini before he drops his head and stares at his hands, which are still going.
If anything, they’ve moved higher than before.
Focusing takes everything I’ve got, but I find the watertight pouch with my phone inside and fish it out.
“What are you doing?” he asks sharply.
“Relax, I’m not about to take a picture.”
Finally, sadly, he pulls his hands back and sits next to me.
“Then what are you doing?”
“Showing you something.” My cell phone finally switches on, and I open Instagram, thankful I have a signal out here in the sticks. I scroll through the pictures until I find the one I took on Alki Beach that day with Molly beside me.
I thrust it at him and he takes it with cautious fingers. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“There.” I jab a finger at the screen, the tiny dot in the distance. The kayaker. Him. “That’s you. After you yelled at me, another thing you won’t talk about.”
He frowns at the photo, and then his frown deepens.
“What’s your point?”
“I kept watching you all the way to Blake Island that day, after we almost came to blows. It was a lot like the way you paddled a few times today. Like you’re angry at the whole world. If you won’t talk about the kiss, about—whatever that was—will you at least tell me why you’re so pissed?”