Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
He swallows my moans, drinks my pain and my pleasure, begging for more with each slow roll of his hips.
“Every time,” he pants. “Better than the last.”
He urges one leg higher on his back until my knee is practically in his arm pit, and I’m so open for him. His pelvic bone rubs my clit every single time he finds the end of me, and I cling to him.
I fight the orgasm, knowing exactly what it means, but the skillful way he moves his hips makes holding it off for forever impossible.
“No,” he whispers when my eyes close. “Look at me, Leighton.”
I open my eyes, but only manage partway. It seems to be enough.
His muscles flex, and mine do too. His mouth hangs open, and I can’t help but mirror the action. When he starts to tremble, his hips moving so slow, but so perfectly deep, my body does the exact same thing.
“We’re going to come,” he whispers as if his finger is over the detonation button for both of us.
I guess it is because it happens the second he whispers, “Right now, Leighton.”
Silence. Calm. Stillness. We don’t move. We don’t breathe as our bodies speak to each other. He pulses, I clench. They communicate, thanking each other.
Saying goodbye.
Chapter 29
Gaige
“That,” I say as I finally regain my breath and roll to the side.
“Can’t happen again,” she whispers.
Emotion clogs my throat. “Yeah. We have to stop before—”
“Yeah,” she agrees before I can finish.
I guess even putting any of that emotional shit into the air wouldn’t be right. It’s proof that we’re not on the same page.
“We had fun,” I say with false cheer in my voice.
“Loads of fun,” she agrees quickly, rolling over and grabbing a half-empty bottle of water from the bedside table and taking a drink.
She doesn’t turn back to face me when she’s done, and I can’t resist the sight of her bare back. I lean into her, pressing my lips to her skin, my fingers tracing her side.
“Thank you for coming with me today.” I rest my chin on her arm, but I can’t see her face.
“Just holding up my end of the deal. I had a good time. You have a lovely family.” She clears her throat. “See you Monday at work.”
A dismissal. This is the end. And not just the end of the sex. I doubt there will be any more laughter or small talk. No more dinner conversations or chitchat. We won’t strategize or joke about anything any longer. All of it is over because I fucked up. I let emotions get involved. I broke the rules, and it’s not what she wanted.
In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
I tug on her arm, urging her to her back and press my mouth to hers one last time. I don’t dip my tongue into her mouth. This kiss is a goodbye, not a way to sexually entice her. When I pull away, tears are rolling from each eye toward her temples. I wipe them away and kiss her again before crawling out of the bed and getting dressed. She never opens her eyes. All she would have to do is ask me to stay or reach for me, and I’d be hers, but she doesn’t.
It says she doesn’t want me here, can’t wait for me to be gone. I linger a little longer by the door but know I can’t keep invading her space any longer. I blame the sobs I hear as I near the elevator on a television in another person’s room because Leighton Redmond is not a woman who really cries. She’s too strong for that. She’s not going to get overly emotional over something ending, especially when she’s the one who wanted it over. She’s the one who said it couldn’t happen again.
I was going to say it was the best I’ve ever had. I was prepared to ask the woman to move to St. Louis, to move in with me. Hell, I was feeling so good, I would’ve agreed to hand calligraphy on the wedding invitations.
She said it couldn’t happen again. She was done. I’m far from it.
But it reminded me of the change in her mood, the distance when we crawled into bed, the way she didn’t want to kiss me.
Stupidly, I thought if I could show her with my body what I was feeling inside, it would win her over. I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. It just blew up in my face. Instead of sticking with the status quo, I just lost everything.
I try to convince myself that I’m not upset. It was great sex. It was a good ride.
But I’m miserable by the time I get to my car. Upon walking into BBS, I’m either homicidal or suicidal and honestly, I haven’t decided which. I consider myself a very sane person, always have, but I’m starting to understand a little why people lose their shit when they lose a significant other or get their heart broken.