Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Okay,” I agreed.
“I know a thing or two about addict parents,” he said. “My old man hit the bottle. And shoved shit up his nose when there was money for that. He was the definition of a mean drunk too.”
“Was he the reason for the scars?” I asked.
“Yeah. Though, in his defense, he didn’t do it on purpose. I was fucking around with friends. He was pissed that I wasn’t home, so he came to find me. He forced me into the front seat of the car when he was wasted as fuck. Peeled out of there and promptly slammed into a guard rail. I went through the windshield.”
“Jesus Christ,” I hissed, pressing up to look down at him. “How old were you?”
“Eleven,” he told me. “Unfortunately for me, as I grew, the scars just kept stretching,” he said, waving toward his face.”
“I know they have probably been a source of a lot of trauma, but I like your scars.”
“Don’t gotta say that,” he said, shaking his head. “I can accept that you might be into me even if you aren’t into them.”
To that, I sat up, sitting back on my heels, so I could reach my hand out to him.
“Hi, it looks like we haven’t met. I’m Nyx. And I’ve never been known to blow smoke up someone’s ass.”
He didn’t actually reach for my hand, but a small smile did tug at his lips.
Redirecting my hand, I touched the very top of the scar near his hairline, gently tracing it down.
His body was ramrod straight below me, his gaze watching me.
Finished, I leaned down, pressing a kiss to that edge of the scar, then following it down to where it disappeared off of his jaw.
“I like them,” I told him, holding eye contact until he broke it. But only because he was pulling me closer, so he could seal his lips to mine.
It was like that kiss we’d shared downstairs.
Soft, sweet.
I’d never really considered myself a soft or sweet kind of woman. But, perhaps, that was because all I allowed myself to experience with men was hard and rough. Because those things were easier. Primal, even. They didn’t require any of those soft, sticky, complicated things we called emotions.
For the first time, though, I wanted soft. I wanted complicated. I wanted intimate and deep and real.
And, it seemed, so did Slash.
His hands weren’t impatient. They didn’t grab at flesh and pull at clothes.
For a long time, actually, his hands just rested on me. One on my neck, the other at my hip.
Then he was rolling us both onto our sides.
And while my leg hooked over his hip and I could feel his hardness pressing against me, the kiss stayed sweet, deep, intimate.
My lips actually felt like they were tingling from it as it stretched on and on. And it wasn’t long after that before my chest started to have that same sensation, then my whole body.
I don’t think I’d ever felt quite as aware of my body as I was at that moment. I felt each spark of desire, each pound of my heart, the way the blood rushed through my veins, the flush that crept over my cheeks, my neck, over my chest, then the pulsing need between my thighs that finally had my hands roaming, moving over the muscles of Slash’s chest, shoulders, and back.
Similarly ignited, Slash rolled onto his back once again, his hands going to my hips until he pushed me back to look down at him.
Then his hands were drifting up and down my bare thighs, teasing the spot where my panties met my hip, then drifting up to snag the hem of my shirt, slowly drawing it up, having to sit up to pull it off of me, tossing it to the ground beside the bed.
Left with nothing but my panties between us, his hands slid up and down my sides, teasing over my ribs, then under the swells of my breasts.
His fingers were a barely-there brush that had little shivers coursing through me.
At that moment, I didn’t just feel desired.
I felt admired.
Revered.
I was lost in that revelation for a long moment until Slash shifted ever so slightly and his cock pressed between the juncture of my thighs with nothing but the thin material of our underwear between us.
My hips ground down on instinct, getting more of the feel of him. And while his breath hissed out of him at the sensation, it didn’t make his hands any more impatient as they slid up over my breasts, his thumbs and forefingers rolling my nipples into hardened points with a sort of agonizing patience.
My hips rocked against his hard length, getting very little relief from the aching need inside. And Slash didn’t seem inclined to help as he just kept touching, exploring, showing me a softness I wouldn’t have believed he was capable of before.