Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
In seconds, he’s rolled it on, spread my legs and now he’s notching the thick head against my entrance. My breath hitches, and a long murmur escapes my lips. “God,” I mutter.
“Quiet,” he whispers harshly.
I comply as he pushes in. My body welcomes him home. In seconds, he’s filling me and I’m shaking with pleasure. It’s twisting so quickly through my veins, it’s like a flood of bliss inside me. I can’t help it—I gasp, while I shudder.
His palm comes down on my mouth. His eyes are heated. He braces himself on one strong arm, then fucks me like that.
Strong, determined strokes. A firm grip on my mouth. Eyes locked on me.
Curling my hands around his shoulders, I slide a knee up higher against his hip. He sinks deeper, making sure I feel every inch of him as he eases out, then drives back in.
I feel it all so much. I’m helpless to the sensations whipping through my body, the tight coils of heat. The sharp, hot bursts of lust. Most of all, his hand covering my mouth with fierce determination. His palm drowns out all my sounds. The needy moans. The oh god, oh fuck, oh yes.
And others too. Like I don’t want to stop with you.
The look in his eyes—something like ferocity chased by adoration—tells me something too. Something I can be sure of without words.
He doesn’t want to stop either.
That tips me over, and I’m falling, falling deeper into him as my orgasm breaks me apart. Quietly with muffled cries, but loudly with this awareness inside me.
I grip him tighter, hold him closer as his body tenses, and he lets go of my mouth, grunting out the most desperate noises.
Before they bring the house down, I slap a hand over his mouth. Covering up his cries of pleasure till his breathing slows and his body stops trembling.
When I let go, he just whispers a heady thank you.
28
GREEN FLAGS
Juliet
On Friday morning, I pad through the house in jammies in search of coffee. Monroe’s off for a run but Sawyer’s standing at the sink in the hallway bathroom, door open, brushing his teeth with his finger.
“Gross,” I say.
“Good hygiene is not gross,” he retorts through a mouthful of paste.
“Maybe I meant you’re gross,” I say.
“Maybe I’ll give you a noogie.”
“Maybe I’m still faster and you can’t catch me,” I say, then wander into the kitchen desperately seeking caffeine.
There’s so much to do today. The realtor is coming in two hours, and she said she can also put us in touch with someone who can handle all these goodies in an estate sale here in the home. It’s weird to think of an estate sale with Eleanor still alive and well, but she definitely is. She posted a video of her cruise on her social feed, singing her Christmas song with her husband at karaoke on the ship. Something about her felt vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
Mostly the image reminded me of how much I love karaoke. Does Monroe like it too? I bet that’s a no, but I’ll ask him. Mostly because I want to know if I’m right. A smile takes over my face as I picture him grumbling about karaoke and show tunes.
I yank open a cupboard searching for coffee when the heavenly scent drifts into my nostrils. Am I dreaming of coffee? I follow my nose, peering down the counter like a cartoon character tracking a scent to…a freshly brewed pot. There’s also a pretty sky-blue ceramic mug with a Post-it note that has my name on it, along with a simple sketch of a ladybug.
At least, I think it’s a ladybug. It’s roundish and has spots. My heart gallops.
“Let me guess. He made you coffee and you’re going all schmoopy.”
Oh shit. I straighten my spine, rearrange my schmoopy features, and turn around to face my brother. “It’s just coffee.”
He rolls his eyes. “Save the innocent act for court. And no, he didn’t tell me. I figured it out because I’m astute, and you two are also pathetically obvious.”
Are you kidding me? My brother guessed right? That’s it? “Um…”
“Yeah. Um, indeed. So, are you two a thing?”
“No, it’s not like that. It’s not like that at all. It’s like…” I sputter out because I don’t know what this thing is like at all, other than an experiment with an end date.
He lifts a brow. “A hook-up? A fling? A one-night stand?”
“No!” I hate all of those terms for Monroe and me, and the frown on my face must tell my brother so because he closes the distance and sets a hand on my shoulder. “Be patient with him,” Sawyer says, gently. “He’s a work in progress.”
My frown turns to a sigh, maybe a grateful one. “Aren’t we all?”
A soft smile comes my way. “Truer words.”