Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
But the moment I’m inside of her, I can’t stop mercilessly taking her with every thrust, each one nearly violent. It’s been too fucking long without her. I need to feel her come on my dick more than I need to breathe.
Kat
“I don’t want you to think about any of this shit or worry. I just want you to love me,” he whispered as I lay limp in bed. “Do you understand?”
As he asked the question, he cleaned between my legs with a wet towel and the sudden touch made me jump, but I was sure to tell him yes. The word spilled from my lips as easily as my pleasure came, one orgasm after the other after the other, bringing me closer and closer to sleep.
It was his kiss, though, soft and gentle on my shoulder and my cheek, then on my lips after he whispered, “Good girl,” that lured me into the depths of my dreams.
If he hadn’t kissed my shoulder so sweetly as he tucked me in, I’d have thought he secretly hated me. For a moment I truly thought that he hated me. That he knew and he hated me. He fucked me so roughly, so ruthlessly … leaving me so deliciously used. But the way he held me, melted every insecurity away.
If it weren’t for the ache between my thighs, I would keep questioning, Did last night really happen?
That's all I can think when I wake up.
Slowly, because of the wine I had last night with Lydia.
Memories filter into the last moments of sleep. Cill next to me in the bed. His mouth on mine. His hands on my body like he had never missed a day of touching me in his life.
Did we really?
I turn over on my back and stretch, feeling the soreness in all my muscles … and elsewhere. His muscles were hard next to the soft touch of the blankets. It was like waking up after a long, deep sleep, so deep you hardly know you’re dreaming until it’s over. Everything about it felt right. And … dangerous.
Dangerous in a way I didn’t expect. I don’t think Cill would hurt me. Not physically. Never that. Even in his anger, he’d never lay a hand on me. Emotionally, though ... My heart races, thinking back to last night. I’m still in disbelief that he wanted this from me. That he still wants me at all, after four years and the very last year.
Footsteps from the kitchen catch my attention, breaking up my wandering thoughts. I climb out of the bed faster than I ever have. It doesn’t take me long to fetch a clean pair of pajamas and I’m still pulling the shirt down as I head downstairs. My heart never stops this weird racing in my chest. Like if I’m not fast enough, it never happened. If I don’t see him now, before he leaves, it all goes away.
I find him in the kitchen, standing at the counter staring out of the window by the sink. In worn jeans and a black cotton T-shirt, with bare feet and stubble lining his jaw he appears laid back, yet still has this intensity and pull about him. It’s overwhelming and keeps me from going to him. Instead I stand in the threshold of the kitchen.
Cill turns his head at the sound of my feet padding on the floor. “Morning,” he says, letting his eyes drift down my body.
“Hi,” I offer shyly and then blush as he gives me a charming, yet cocky smirk. “You look far more rested,” he comments and then he turns back to the coffee machine. It drips slowly into the pot.
“I had a little help.” I clear my throat and add, “A sleep aid I highly recommend.” I can’t help my smile as I go to the fridge.
I can feel his eyes on me as I get out a pan and the eggs and start the process of cooking them on the stove. A new pack of English muffins waits by the toaster. Scrambled eggs today. My hands aren’t steady enough to get the yolks right any other way. Especially with him watching my every move.
Nervousness and insecurity worm their way into my mind again.
I steal a peek at him over my shoulder and find Cill watching me. He’s not smiling and my own vanishes.
“You okay?” I ask him.
He blinks. I wonder if anyone else is asking him whether he’s okay. Checking in with him, the way people should after an experience like he’s had.
“Yeah,” he answers, seeming to shake off the seriousness that overcame him. “I’m good.” It doesn’t leave me, though. Last night was a moment for us.
Was it only a moment? My pulse seems to skip and a numbness creeps up the back of my neck as I put English muffins in the toaster. I take another covert glance at Cill and watch him run his hand over the back of his neck, like he feels the same. A pricking knowing that even if last night was heaven, we’re still living in a hell we didn’t choose and can’t control.