Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
“It won’t.”
“You’re right. It won’t. Not this time. This time I’m keeping you safe and never letting you out of my sight until those motherfuckers pay.”
My heart raced. My gasp was loud in the silent room.
Leaning close, he breathed, “Does that scare you?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Well, it should.”
“I understand you carry things inside. Dark things—painful things. Tell me. What happened to you?”
His eyes lost the burning intensity, hazing with lust. “Later.”
I swallowed as he cupped my cheek and whispered a thumb over my lips. “I’ll tell you everything… but first, I need to touch you. I need to make sure this is real.”
A small smile twisted my lips. “I am real. I’m yours. You’re mine. Just like we said all those years ago.”
He sucked in a breath, his chest rising sharply. “God, I’ve missed you.”
His hand slipped from my cheek to the base of my skull. His eyes tore into me, welding his soul to mine. “Every night I dreamed of kissing you.” His gaze dropped to my lips. I didn’t have time to gasp or enjoy the blissful anticipation of being kissed before his mouth crushed against mine.
My body melted against his, becoming one with his passion and heat. His arms wrapped around me, his heart thundering. I snuggled closer.
His lips were silk and sandpaper all at once. His tongue smooth and stealing. I opened wider, deepening the kiss until staying alive meant breaking our connection and breathing, and I never wanted to do that.
Suicide by kiss—death by lover’s embrace—that was my choice.
Kill never stopped kissing me, never stopped touching.
My fingers itched to trace his muscles, to stroke and calm.
I paused.
He doesn’t let any woman touch him.
He sensed my trepidation, breaking our kiss to look into my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
I laughed self-consciously. “Can I—um, can I touch you?”
His gaze flared and the tender look on his face undid me. “Cleo, touch me. Only you have ever had that privilege. I’ve been dying for so many years to have your fingers on me again.” His voice thickened. “I was prepared to spend the rest of my life without touching, knowing you were dead. I was broken… a man who couldn’t tolerate the touch of another.” He chuckled softly. “Every time I craved companionship enough to seek out a woman, I ended up almost killing her for not being you. I was screwed up, Cleo. A fucking mess.”
Oh God.
My heart burst as his mouth reclaimed mine, stealing my reply. My hands splayed on his back, caressing every inch I could reach.
He shifted, bringing me close to his body and wedging the hard heat of his cock against my exposed hipbone. He rocked once, twice, sending a delicious sensation of need through my belly to my core. My nipples tightened as his heart galloped against my side.
Every inch of me screamed for attention. Sensitivity was both a blessing and a curse as I grew wet from his kisses.
This wasn’t like before. This was more. So, so much more.
His fingers fell to my breast, squeezing once before bowing his head and sucking my nipple.
My eyes closed; lust swarmed my system.
I squirmed as his hot tongue swirled with a delicious combination of sucking and teasing. He murmured against my skin, “I wanted you so much back then. I was a stupid fool to deny you.”
I moaned, grabbing his hair and shivering in bliss as I sank my fingernails into the thick, long strands. “Maybe if you knew what I tasted like, you would’ve recognized me when you first took me.”
His teeth graced my nipple, making my breath catch. “I wanted so much to be your first. For you to be mine.” He suddenly stopped licking, pressing his forehead against my sternum and wrapping trembling arms around my body. “I’m so sor—”
I tugged his hair, stopping him from apologizing again. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it. Now—right here, right now—this is our first time. No one else exists—the past, the memories, the revenge. None of it matters. Not anymore.”
His forehead furrowed as he bit his lip. A delectable flop of long hair covered one of his eyes. “Fuck, it makes me hard when you control the situation. It always did. Even when you were a bossy ten-year-old.”
I laughed, amazed that the intense sexual moment could have so many facets. “You fantasized about me when you were thirteen and I was ten?” I scrunched up my nose playfully. “That’s just gross.”
He chuckled. “You know what I mean. I didn’t want you like that. I just couldn’t… I couldn’t understand you. I couldn’t get you out of my mind—not because you were so cute with your bouncing red hair and fierce green eyes, but because of your ginormous attitude.”
His hands traced down my rib cage, his thumb skirting the hollow of my belly. He kept going, ghosting over scars and colors. His eyes burned, drinking me in, and the urge for conversation quickly faded.