Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
I’m no longer committed to following the strict rules I’ve been taught—at least not all of them—but it’s hard not to feel like the things I want are wrong.
It’s hard to even figure out what I want.
I do know I want to kiss Erik again. It feels like a huge victory that kissing him didn’t send me into a panic the way Brax’s kiss did, and it wasn’t for a lack of feeling things. I felt so much.
I was more relaxed, though—as relaxed as a person can be when their ovaries have been set ablaze. Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was because it was my second kiss of the day.
How have I become a woman who’s kissed two men in one day?
Plus, all that flirting with the bartender, Gray. I felt powerful and sensual when his eyes were on me, and those aren’t things I’ve felt before.
I wonder if I’d have the same feeling if I were to see him again. I wonder when Erik might kiss me again. I wonder if now, I’d be able to kiss Brax with confidence—that is, if Brax would ever want to see me again.
The want, need, and curiosity flowing through me are nearly overwhelming, like a river overrunning its banks in the spring, carving a new landscape with its untamed power.
Turning off the tv, I give up on thinking about anything else tonight. After a shortened version of my before-bed rituals, I climb under the covers, hoping I’ll be able to turn off my brain long enough to fall asleep.
I want to dream about Erik, Brax, and Gray, because I don’t want to stop thinking about them. Usually, I read before I fall asleep, and though I do have some wonderful books on my Kindle, nothing in a book is going to be as interesting to me as what actually happened today.
As soon as I was old enough to have my own account, I started reading romance novels. At first, I only chose sweet, clean stories, where things faded to black before any physical action took place. I’ve always been in love with love, and I dreamed about finding a man like the ones I read about, someone who’d care for me, protect me, and also allow me the freedom to be myself.
Then came a book that must have been put in the wrong category, or maybe I wasn’t paying close enough attention. The curse words in the first couple of chapters should have been a clue that this wasn’t my typical romance read, but maybe I chose to ignore them.
Later in that book, when the couple got together, the doors didn’t close and the lights didn’t turn off. It was several years ago now, but I can still remember how wide my eyes were, and how quickly I flicked through the pages, and then how many times I went back and slowly reread them.
Mostly, I remember reading the intimate details of the passion the couple shared. My body felt alive in a way that it never had before, but I didn’t know what to do with it. I still don’t.
It’s a pleasurable sensation, but it’s also a gnawing ache, and it’s the same feeling that made me run away from Brax today, because I’d never experienced that feeling outside of my bed, or in the presence of anyone aside from the fictional couples in my books.
Tonight, I don’t need to read to get that sensation, because it’s there, just below the surface.
I slide my hand inside my pajama pants and over my center, where I’m hot. My fingers dance over the thin fabric of my underwear before coming to a rest, my hand cupping my soft mound, which almost seems to be throbbing.
My nipples are hard, tingling with need, and I bring my other hand up to brush over them.
I lie there like that, one hand between my legs, the other on my breasts, my head full of three huge, sexy men, and I feel myself evolving into someone new.
AVA
The next morning, I’m excited to go to work. The yarn shop is definitely my happy place. Being surrounded by all the bright colors and creative potential makes every workday fun, and I also love introducing other people to crocheting and knitting.
“Good morning, Ava.”
My good mood evaporates. “Good morning, Mrs. Todd.” I find myself ducking my head rather than meeting my boss’s eye as I shrug off my jacket, afraid that the sinful things I did yesterday are somehow tattooed on my skin.
I was self-conscious when I stopped for coffee this morning, memories of the kiss with Erik replaying in my mind so vividly that the barista had to call my name twice before I realized my drink was ready.
Now, guilt joins my self-consciousness, because Mrs. Todd is a prominent member of the church, and I can’t help thinking about how she’d react if she knew I’d spent my night drinking and kissing and fantasizing about things even more sinful than that.