Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Her pounding heart pushes into my naked chest. “Then let’s get it out of our system.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
We breathe into each other’s faces, my eyes burning into hers. And my restraint abandons me completely. I swoop in, tackling her mouth, the mouth I’ve dreamed of. Oh . . . shit, she tastes as good as the fantasy. I claim her arms and take them to my shoulders, and then slide my palms to the backs of her thighs and inch the skirt of her dress up. I get lost in her kiss, and she returns it, moaning and humming around my lips before I lift her to straddle my waist. My sanity is lost. Every fucking valid reason why this is a terrible idea vanishes.
I walk us into my apartment and kick the door closed, before taking her bag from her shoulder and tossing it aside, heading straight to my bedroom. Her hands are in my hair, pulling and tugging, the feeling so fucking good. Lowering us both to the bed, Lainey beneath me, I work us up to the top until her head finds a pillow, not once losing contact with her mouth. Her lips are like magnets, holding me in place, as I relish the feeling of her curves pressing into me, molding perfectly, like we were made to fit together.
I’ve dreamt of these curves. Drawn them. Mentally caressed them.
“I tried not to come here,” she mumbles around our kiss, running her hands across my back, feeling me everywhere. “I don’t want to make this any more difficult.”
“It couldn’t be any more difficult,” I reply, forcing myself to relinquish her lips. I look down at her panting up at me. Her eyes are glimmering more than I’ve ever seen before, her cheeks flushed. “The past few weeks have been a living fucking nightmare.” Sitting up on my haunches, I take her hands and pull her up, dropping a kiss on her cheek and dotting more up to her temple as I reach for the hem of her dress and pull it over her head. Her face nuzzles into mine, her breathing becoming progressively more shallow and strained. I spend a few rapt moments taking in the delicate lace of her bra. Then on an exhale of breath, I look up at her as she takes her hands behind her back, eyes on mine, and releases the catch. Her bra falls into her lap, exposing her chest. “Jesus,” I whisper, taken aback by the perfection of the breasts before me. Any other time with any other woman, I’d have them in my hands by now, but here . . . with this woman . . . I’m holding back. It’s nothing to do with my conscience. Or the regret that may come tomorrow. It’s purely so I can absorb her, take her in, admire her. So I can come to terms with the reality that she is as exquisite naked as I imagined. I could sit here on my knees and admire her forever.
I gulp and lift my eyes to hers again, finding she’s still focused on my face. Not my chest. Or my thighs. Just my face. Then she takes her hands down to her knickers, shifting from her seated position to her knees. I don’t help her. I’m immobilized by awe, so I remain where I am, watching her pushing them down her thighs until she’s forced to stand on the bed to get them past her knees. Quite chivalrously, I lift my hand for her to take, which she does on a small smile, looking down at me.
“Take them off,” she orders softly as she guides my hand to her knickers, like she senses I need the instruction. I do. Never in my life have I felt so thunderstruck by a woman. Never have I depended on a woman to take the lead to get us naked. Lainey makes me forget how to breathe. I pull some air into my lungs to wake them up and flex my hand in hers until she releases it, taking my spare hand to the other side of her knickers. Slowly peeling the delicate material down to her ankles, I look up at her, feeling her hands back in my hair. And once she’s free from her knickers, she dips a little and takes my forearms, tugging gently in order for me to join her and stand. The rise to my feet has me drinking in every tiny piece of her legs, the small strip of hair at the apex of her thighs, her soft tummy, her perfect boobs, until I’m at her face.
“Shit,” I whisper as her fingers slip into the waistband of my boxers. I feel unstable, the soft mattress of the bed under my feet not helping, as she starts to crouch, dragging my boxers with her. And then she offers her hand for me to take so I can lift a foot in turn to remove them. The blood in my cock starts to pound impatiently, but I ignore it, happy to take things slowly and enjoy her for as long as I can. This is different. Clothes aren’t being ripped off. It’s as if we both can’t quite believe we’re here, and we need to make the most of it.