Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Hi.” I mirrored his grin a breath before he kissed me.
We kissed forever. He pulled me on top of him. And we kissed more. I felt him hard between my legs, the cotton of his briefs and my panties masking very little—serving only as a temporary barrier to build the moment, stoking the fire.
“Wylder …” I slid my hand down the front of his briefs, drawing a sharp breath from him followed by a long moan. “You suck at not being romantic.”
His hands tangled in my long hair (where I loved them most) as I kissed down his chest.
“You suck at not being sexy.” My mouth gave his abs some love as I stroked him.
He said nothing as I removed his briefs, but the second I slid my panties off, he flipped us over, settling between my legs, mouth working its way up my chest to my neck. We were cramped for space, but we made it work, pressing our bodies as close together as possible. He entered me so agonizingly slow I could barely take it.
The man hovering over me wasn’t fucking me on the landing of his stairs or against his back door. This was different.
And I just … couldn’t … take it.
“Wylder,” I whispered as he started to move, each thrust slow and meaningful.
“Livy,” he whispered back, drawing my bottom lip into his mouth.
I closed my eyes for a moment to decide if the words clawing at my chest really needed to be set free.
They did. Holding them inside would’ve caused too much pain.
“You suck at being unlovable.”
He stilled, lifting his head just enough to see my eyes.
My right hand slid up between us to press against his face while my left hand feathered along his back. “So…” my voice shook “…just remember it’s your fault. You made me love you.”
He blinked slowly.
“But you don’t have to love me back.” Before he could respond, or worse, not respond, I stretched my head and captured his mouth as my feet dug into the mattress to lift my pelvis. Urging him to move again, I snaked my tongue into his mouth while my hand grabbed his ass.
He moved.
We moved.
My heart? It leaped, free falling into Slade Wylder’s world.
Vulnerable.
Frightened.
Suicidal.
Stupid, crazy, impulsive heart.
In the early morning, a good hour before sunrise, I opened my eyes, relishing the lulling sound of the waves below and the naked body at my back—legs and arms intertwined with the blankets and each other. Somewhere he began and I ended, but I had no clue where.
As if he sensed my open eyes, his hold on me tightened, and he buried his nose into my hair, pressing his lips to my ear. “I love you back.”
Drawing in a shaky breath, I covered his hands with mine, squeezing them as a tear slipped down my cheek. One tear he would never see. I should have been elated, but I was too busy being scared out of my mind because I had this feeling … a terrible unexplainable feeling that he wasn’t simply going to break my heart, he was going to shatter it beyond repair. And I would live my life as a jaded lover who would never trust another man again.
All in.
Smart women saved a part of their hearts—like if even a small part were left intact, it could grow a full heart again. One cell at a time.
Nope. I let the whole fucking organ dive off the cliff, which meant he would leave me heartless and broken.
Chapter Nineteen
Wylder
I never asked questions.
I was trained not to ask.
I just did as I was told.
What I didn’t do was look after young women like a bodyguard. It fell out of my area of specialty. But … I never asked.
The less I knew, the better. A safeguard for everyone.
So there I was—protecting her, fucking her, loving her. I thought. Love wasn’t part of my life in the way Livy gave it. I just felt something so foreign it scared me. And nothing scared me up until that moment. It had to be love.
Somewhere along the way, I think I was trained to not love that way. No one could have trained me for her.
“Fuck … I’ve met my match,” I mumbled to myself, straddling my board, feet numb in the cold water as Livy came down the barrel of the wave like a pro.
Long blond hair whipping to the side.
A grin fracturing her face in two.
And screaming, “Wylder!”
We spent the next three hours surfing. She would have kept going, but Jericho wasn’t the best beach dog, and I had a paper to write if I wanted to graduate that year.
“You weren’t too bad.” She smirked, peeling off her wet suit as I secured the boards to the top of the sprinter van.
“Thanks,” I chuckled. “Jericho.” I whistled for him to get into the van.