Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Me neither. We had some good times here, didn’t we?”
“Remember how you guys used to climb those trees and jump into the water?”
He laughed. “Yeah. That was fun.”
“I was positive one of you was going to break your neck.”
“Nah.” He looked up. “Wonder if I could still do it.”
“Dallas Shepherd. Don’t even think about it.”
He stood and whipped off his shirt.
My breath caught at the sight of his bare upper body—he was thicker and more muscular than he’d been back then, and he had tattoos on his shoulders, arms, and the sides of his ribcage. It was too dark to see what they were, but I longed to run my hands over the ink. Ask him about each one. Listen to his stories.
He unbuttoned his jeans and paused with his hands on the zipper. “Close your eyes if you’re shy, violet.”
I lifted my chin, heart pounding. “I’m not shy.”
He grinned and shoved his jeans down. But before I could get a good look at him in his underwear, he kicked them off and dove over the side of the boat. I squealed as the water splashed me.
A few seconds later, he surfaced, tossing his head. “Fuck, that feels good.”
“Is it cold?”
“It’s perfect. You should come in. Unless you don’t want to get your hair wet or something.”
I stood up and unbuttoned my blouse. “Please. As long as you’ve known me, have I ever been that girl?”
“Nope. But I don’t really know you now.”
I felt his eyes on me as I removed my top and unbuttoned my skirt. My pulse was accelerating rapidly. “So ask me something.”
He was silent a few seconds. “Have you spent the last twelve years hating me?”
“I’ve never hated you.”
“Did you ever think about me?”
“You know I did.” I stepped out of my skirt and stood there in a nude bralette and panties.
“Christ,” he said, staring up at me.
I put my hands on my hips. “Any more questions?”
“Yeah. How serious were you about that whole look-but-don’t-touch thing?”
Giggling, I jumped over the edge of the boat. The water was cool but not shockingly cold, and I stayed under for a moment, my feet planted on the sandy bottom. When I came up, Dallas had moved closer to me.
The water was over my head, but he could stand here. His hair looked black, all wet. His eyes shone in the dark.
“I’m trying really hard to behave like I said I would,” he said, coming even closer.
I swam backward, giggling. “I can see that.”
“But I’ve got to be honest, I’m not sure I can keep my promise.”
“I’ll be honest, too. This is one time where I hope you don’t.”
He reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward him. Giving in, I wrapped my legs around his waist and looped my arms around his neck. My entire body radiated with desire. Anticipation. Heat. Only he could make me feel this alive.
“God, Maren.” His voice was low and serious. His arms tightened around me. “I told myself I couldn’t do this. But I must have been fucking crazy to think I wouldn’t.”
“Same,” I whispered, longing to feel his lips on mine again. “But I don’t care. I want this. Even if it’s just for one night, I want this. I want you.”
Our mouths came together, and we kissed as feverishly and passionately as if no time had passed at all. We were young and reckless and bursting with need, desperate to satisfy the gnawing hunger inside us that never seemed to go away, no matter how often we fed it. His hands moved beneath my ass, squeezing my flesh, pulling me against him. I could feel his erection through the fabric of his boxer briefs and my underwear, and I moaned when he rocked his hips, sliding his cock along my clit.
He tasted sweet and sinful at the same time—like whiskey and butterscotch, like a memory and a fantasy—and his mouth was familiar but his kiss felt brand new. The facial hair, I thought, moving my hands to his jaw as his tongue stroked mine. He didn’t have it back then. I loved the rough masculinity of it on my palms and against my cheeks and lips. I loved that he was thirty and not seventeen, that his body felt so big and strong, that years had gone by and he’d matured into a man but his desire for me hadn’t dissipated.
I reached down into the water between us and rubbed my hand along his thick, hard length, shivering with want. At my touch, he dug his fingers into my thighs. “Maren,” he said, his voice gruff. “Come back to my room. Stay the night with me.”
“Yes,” I whispered, already hating the minutes that stood between now and the moment I’d feel him inside me again. The memory of it had my body tight in its grip. “Let’s go.”