Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
I angle my hips so my dick hits her g-spot and grind against her clit at the same time. Her orgasm hits all at once. Her eyes widen in shock, her mouth parting on a silent cry. I growl her name, pounding into her as she comes in a heated rush all over my cock.
My muscles lock up, a ferocious orgasm ripping through me in a rush of sound and a roar of light. She's at the center of the maelstrom, blazing like the sun. My sunshine.
I fall forward, catching myself on my elbow, still inside her. My lips land against her cheek, seeking her mouth. I kiss her hard, pouring my devotion into her as we come down together. She trembles beneath me, so sweet and cuddly. So perfect.
I roll us to the side, making sure to keep my dick in her.
She burrows into my arms, nuzzling her face against my throat.
"Don't fall asleep on me, Sunshine," I murmur, "I'm not done with you yet."
"I noticed," she giggles. "You're still hard."
"Mmhmm." I tip her chin up until our eyes meet. "Didn't need a fucking knot either, baby."
Chapter Nine
Cordelia
Cordelia
"Can I ask you a question?" I ask Deacon, watching him from the corner of my eye as he works at his desk late the next afternoon. After spending half the day in bed yesterday at the cabin, we had to work quickly to get the other two in order for the hikers headed up to stay through Valentine's Day. I didn't think it sounded very romantic until we spent the night making love under the skylight, with no one around for miles. Now, I'm rethinking my stance.
Hiking still isn't high on my list of things to do. Even with Deacon at my side, being in the woods scares the crap out of me. Too many bad memories. But it's strange. I came here to conquer that fear. I never expected that I'd make new, happy memories to soften the sharp edges of the old ones. Slowly but surely though, the last two days have chipped away the four I spent lost and afraid.
I know that's because of Deacon. It's not the woods that's different this time. It's the fact that I'm with him. He's the new memory chipping away at and replacing the old. I used to remember how cold I was out there at night. Now, I remember burning up with his lips gliding down my body. There used to be nothing by ominous sounds from the dark. Now, there's his cranky growl and rusty laughter.
"Depends on if you're going to talk shit about my office again," he says, eyeing me sideways.
"I think you mispronounced trainwreck," I say sweetly, grabbing another stack of receipts to scan and file. We've been working for the last two hours, and I've barely made a dent in the chaos, but he seems partial to it. Mostly because I don't think he's stubborn and doesn't want to admit that Nell was right about him desperately needing help getting this place in order.
He narrows his eyes on me, making me smile. "Ask your question before I come over there and fuck up all of your hard work."
"I will murder you in your sleep if you even think about touching these receipts, Deacon." I give him a mean glare—or my best impression of one, anyway. No one with pink hair and a headband looks intimidating.
He smirks. "Ask your question."
"What did you mean yesterday about it being a few years since you heard things?" I didn't think anything about the comment yesterday, but I found a stack of photos at the bottom of the filing cabinet of him in firefighter gear earlier, shoved to the back as if he wanted to forget them. He wasn't always a mountain man. I don't know what happened, but I'm guessing whatever it was drove him here.
His heavy sigh confirms my suspicion. "Come here."
I carefully set the receipts aside and climb to my feet, crossing the office to him. He grabs my hand, pulling me down onto his lap.
"It's easier if I show you," he says, clicking an icon on his desktop.
A God-awful screeching sound echoes through the office.
Tyr grunts in the corner, rolling onto his other side.
"What is that?"
"What? The dial-up sound?"
"Dial-up? Bunyan, save me," I mutter. "I have traveled back in time." Right back to the 1990s, when rap music was good and the only thing you could do on the internet was learn or chat.
"Smartass," Deacon says, his lips twitching.
I grin at him.
We wait four hundred years for the dial-up to connect, and then he opens a web browser. He quickly types something in and then pulls up a news article.
Sixteen firefighters killed in Pasayten Wilderness.
"Deacon," I whisper, my stomach sinking as I skim the article. When I come across his name as one of only three survivors on the team, my heart cracks in half, tears welling in my eyes.