Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“Leon . . .”
His knuckles skim over the small of my back, and he cuffs my hips in his palms, drawing me onto the edge of the bed, between his legs. Frissons of energy spark between his chest and my back. A low sigh skates up my nape. “These are my favourite. Make me a matching pair?”
I crumble against him and his hands shift around my front, taking my weight, holding me tight. I turn my head. His deep gaze hits mine. Warm, bright, content.
I kiss him and our lips lock with the taste of tea.
I smile; he laughs, nuzzling kisses along my jaw and down my throat. He pulls back and twists me around on his lap. His next kiss is flirtatious; his voice creamy and oh-so-cocky. “I suppose this means I will get lucky tonight.”
I shove him back against the bed and feel the power of his laugh under my palms and thighs. “You’re something else, Damon.” I shake my head. “So unapologetically yourself.” I bite my lip. “I think . . .”
I take too long to finish my thought and Damon flips me onto my back, pinning me at the wrists, nose brushing against mine. He’s hard, and so am I, and he rolls his hips teasingly until I’m a throbbing mess, pulse ticking with abandon under his fingers.
He nibbles my ear. “Go on, babe.”
I let out an uneven breath. “It’s the best way to be.”
His lips trail like a feather to the left corner of my mouth; he presses them against mine. “Let’s keep your top on like this.”
He pulls up and shimmies off me, taking my pyjama pants with him. I cuff my aching length and admire his shifting muscles as he shoves his own off. He crawls back, limbs hot against my cool skin. He looms over me, tension gathering between us. I shift my thighs and he wriggles closer, his cock straining next to mine.
“I have a confession,” Damon murmurs, grinding gently.
My lips part on a pant, and I raise my head and clasp his nape for a deep snog. His tongue is slick and purposeful in my mouth, and I wrap my legs around him greedily. “You absolute rascal.”
“Who, me?”
“You know I’m too caught up in this to care about whatever it is you’ve done.”
“You see right through me. If this isn’t a match made in heaven.”
I laugh into his kiss. “Confess then.”
He does some sneaky sexy shifting to get me moaning first. “I arrived at the town hall early last weekend.”
Damon grabs something from under the pillow, and then his slickened hand takes the both of us in an impatient grip. My mouth is hot and desperate on his, and I barely keep the thread of the conversation. “You saw who ran off with the bingo gear?”
His strokes are long and sure. “I would have . . . if I’d caught my reflection.”
“Damon . . .” It’s a groan, but I can’t be sure how much of it is about the ‘confession’.
He drives his knee against my thigh, pushing my legs wider, and his fingers unlock from our lengths to tug at our balls. Slick fingers slide lower and a million nerve endings come to life at the teasing graze. His mouth meets my neck. “I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see what you’d do.”
“A cat playing with his fish.”
He slides the tip of his finger into me and I’m a writhing mess, wanting him deeper.
A husky murmur, “I do like seeing you squirm.”
His finger sinks deeper and I clutch his shoulders. A soft kiss at my jaw. The softest. “You’ve always been the cutest guy I’ve known.”
I shiver, and our gazes hook.
His Adam’s apple juts on a hard swallow. There’s a flash of shyness, only a flash, but a flash nevertheless, and I surge up in a mirroring flash of confidence to steal a kiss. “I’ve been falling for you since the first time we looked twice.”
“CPR?”
“Mmm. You still haven’t given it to me.”
He laughs and more fingers breach me; I come to life in his arms, my heel rubbing against the bed as my body begs for his, my chest swelling with butterflies. “Was moving in to method-act fake fiancés a ruse?”
He growls along the base of my throat. “I never called it that.”
“Wait.” My fingers tighten around his biceps and my eyes widen as I recall him murmuring to our fish. Figuring it out on his own . . . “Good God, I’m dense.”
“I know, right?”
I slap the back of his head, and his laugh is intoxicating. My fingers grip his hair and pull him to my mouth. “Cuter than—” I stop myself, and my cheeks flush.
“Yes, Leon. Cuter than.” He rubs my prostate lazily and catches my gasp in his mouth. His torture relents; he grips the curve of my arse and shifts. His eyes meet mine—dark, deep, desperate.