Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Bronte’s eyes rolled before she slipped into her t-shirt. “It’ll have to do.”
He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, blue eyes darkening as they lingered on her thighs. “Are you hungry?”
He was. And he was giving her that look again. The one that made her feel more feminine and desirable than she had since…
The day he left.
William’s slow exhale was shaky with restraint. “Bronte? I thought you said you wanted to talk. Let’s sit down and you can tell me why you’re here while we eat.”
It sounded like a solid plan, but she couldn’t make herself move. They were alone behind a locked door for the first time since she’d woken up in another strange hotel room—still fully dressed, Thank God—and married.
There would be no sneaking out this time. Not that she wanted to.
“You keep looking at me like that and I’ll forget what the word gentleman means.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She started to turn away in embarrassment. “Maybe we should talk tomorrow ins—”
He was there before she finished speaking, his front pressed against her back, face buried in her neck. “You don’t want to send me away again, do you? Fuck, you smell so good, darlin’.”
She was thinking the same thing about him. Something earthy and irresistible and all William. Damn Irish pheromones. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
His skin was hot enough to burn her, rough fingers setting off sparks everywhere he touched. “We really do need to talk, William.”
“Not yet,” he breathed, his hands skimming her arms until they reached her hips, dragging her back against him. “Not yet, love. Unless the building’s on fire, you can tell me anything you need to later. Let me kiss my wife hello.”
“You already did that.” But she was melting back against him and he groaned at the silent submission, fingers burrowing into her shorts to tangle in the elastic of her underwear.
“Not when you’re skin’s still glistening and you smell like fresh peaches. I’ve been dreaming of you like this. Every morning in the shower I imagined you joining me. Did you think I sent all those pictures not to get one in return? All I’ve had to hold on to was the image of you on your back in your parent’s garage, waiting for me to make you come.”
Bronte moaned and he tightened his fist on the cotton, rubbing the fabric against her clit in a way that made her want to scream. “You did send a lot of pictures. I thought you were…showing off.”
“You never told me to stop. Showing off? Did you like them?” His thick length slid between the cheeks of her ass and even through her shorts it felt like a brand.
“Yes.” She pressed back, needing more of him. Wanting him naked. “Jesus.”
“Don’t distract me with prayers,” he growled against her skin. “I’m too busy wondering if you’ve gotten off in these sweet, white panties and baby doll shorts. Did you lie in bed and think of me, sweet Bronte? Did you look at my pictures and touch yourself? Or were you doing that while we sent each other bad jokes and stupid movie reviews—anything we could think of—knowing I was doing the same?”
Yes. Yes to all of it.
“I know you’ve thought about it as much as I have. What might have happened if I hadn’t been a gentleman that night. What I could have done to this luscious body if I’d demanded conjugal visits from my wife without witnesses. Would you still have pushed me away if we’d been alone?”
No.
“I didn’t push you, I punched you. Please, William.”
He shuddered against her. “And isn’t that the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. Bronte begs. What are you begging for?”
Instead of answering, she reached back between them and gripped him through his jeans, moaning at how hard he was. How thick.
“Not this time,” he was panting against her temple, his fingers restlessly skimming her stomach, her waist. “Fuck me, you really are delicious. Peaches and cream. Don’t tempt me to take a bite if you’re not ready.”
She weakly tried to push his hands away. “I’m too old to play these games, leprechaun. If you don’t want—”
“Don’t want?” He walked her forward and lifted her so she was kneeling on the bed. She choked on a gasp when he snagged her shorts and dragged them and her underwear down to her thighs, growling at what he’d revealed. “You think I don’t want this, Nightingale?”
Two large hands caressed her ass and she fell forward, her own making fists in the coverlet. “Everything I’ve been doing has been to earn this. Earn you. I deserve a fucking reward for my restraint.”
One palm slid up the middle of her back, holding her in place while he dropped to his knees beside the bed.
“What are you doing?”