Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
It’s because I’m making a choice. Trust is a choice, and I choose to trust Jude. This is the only way to move on, and now we’re moving together with our bodies. I can’t get close enough to him, but I have to try. I grind my dick against his, our hard lengths rubbing through all our clothes.
I’m so wired. Every nerve in my body is firing. And I don’t want to pump the brakes, but with my last ounce of willpower, I pause the kiss. I’m not done with my confessions. “I wanted to take you to Amsterdam with me,” I admit, gravel in my voice, almost like it hurts to say that.
“I fucking wanted to go,” he says, his voice the same.
“Dammit, Jude. I was going to ask you to meet me there. To spend the weekend with you. To do this,” I say, then press another hungry kiss to his lips. I’m making up for missing our European trip.
He groans, letting his head fall back, inviting me to explore his jaw, his chin, his neck. “I’d have said yes,” he rasps out as I coast my mouth along his throat.
His pulse throbs.
For me.
My entire body aches.
For him.
I’m scorching inside and out. “I hated being there without you. I was miserable. Absolutely miserable.”
“Good,” he says.
I deserve that rough tone. I deserve the reminder.
“I’m so fucking glad you had an awful time in Amsterdam without me,” he adds.
But Jude deserves to be reminded too.
My hands race up the front of his shirt, undoing another button. I press a hot kiss to his chest. Another button. Another kiss. Another groan from his lips as I journey down, punishing him with pleasure.
“I bet you were miserable. But you could have had this,” I say as I shove open his shirt, exposing his smooth chest and abs.
My throat rumbles as I lick my way down his body. When I reach the waistband of his pants, I lift my face, stand to my full height, and lock eyes with him. “I would have fucked you so good in Amsterdam.”
His blue irises are burning flames. “Would you now?” It’s a taunt, asking me to prove it.
I start by gripping his hard-on, and he feels so good, so right. “I always did fuck you good,” I say, then rub my whiskers across his cheek, drawing out a heady moan.
I know how to drive him wild.
I will use all my tools. I will weaponize my beard, and my lips, and my hands. I squeeze his dick nice and hard. “Say I fucked you good, Jude,” I command. “Say it.”
His breath stutters as I stroke the outline of his cock.
But he doesn’t do as I asked. Instead, he lifts a hand, grabs my jaw, and stares fiercely at me. “I think you forgot how this goes. I give the orders. You like to follow them.”
His voice is deep and sexy, and he’s right. Of course, he’s right. He always told me what to do and I loved it. “Like this one. Fuck me now,” he demands.
“God yes,” I say, relief and lust tearing through me in equal measure as I kiss him the way I plan to fuck him.
With everything I have.
He takes my kisses like they’re all he needs, and as I devour his mouth, I push off his shirt. My hands are so damn happy to explore his chest and arms. But then, I can’t forget his ass. His perfect, firm, tight ass that I long to fuck. Curling my hands over those cheeks, I knead him through his clothes, then I break the kiss. “Bedroom. Now.”
He toes off his shoes and socks, and I do the same. Grabbing at my shirt, he tugs me, walking backward. He undoes my buttons as we go, reaching the last one right as we get to his bedroom door.
Moonlight streaks through the window, illuminating the bed. I refused to sneak a peek in here yesterday. Now, my gaze eats up the space. It’s small, but it has everything we need—a king-size mattress and a mirror on the closet door.
Trouble is that his bed is host to a pile of clothing wreckage. The evidence thrills me. “Did you have a hard time picking what to wear tonight?”
“Oh. Right,” he says, letting go to glance at the mess. When he jerks his gaze back to me, he shrugs, like he knows he’s been busted. “Took me a while to decide.”
“Why? Tell me why?” I ask as he gathers the clothes, hauls them into his arms, and deposits them on a red chair in the corner of the room.
When he spins around—shirtless and barefoot and incomparably sexy in only those slim black pants—he shoots me a seductive smile. Just like that, with a crook of his lips, a twinkle in his eyes, he turns his spotlight on me once again. “I wanted you to be a hot mess for me,” he says.