Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Oh, I definitely see it.”
Shit. Though . . . it’s not like I’m one to throw away a perfectly good opportunity when it smacks me in the face.
My gaze shifts up, meeting those blue-gray eyes that have lived in my memory for far too long, and I lower my tone to a breathy whisper, my tongue rolling over my bottom lip as heat builds between my thighs. “Then what are the chances you’d like to see exactly what it is I do with it?”
Nick swallows, his Adam’s apple gently bobbing up and down his throat. As he steps closer, his warm hand grazes my waist, and my knees weaken. I try to catch my breath, but the tension makes it impossible to move or think clearly.
He closes the distance between us, and my heart pounds.
There’s no way he took the bait.
Is this really happening? Holy shit. Is he going to finally kiss me?
Wait. Did I shave this morning?
Oh, God. Why did I have to pick out my worst pair of period spanks today? It’s not even that time of the month, but I’ve severely neglected the laundry, and considering I had no intention of even getting this close to Nick, I didn’t bother to pack any of my good underwear. Worst decision of my life.
His head tilts down, that blueish-gray stare holding me hostage as my heart pounds with blazing intensity. “Every fucking day for six long years I’ve laid in my bed and imagined the way you would touch yourself. How you’d picture my tongue on that sweet little cunt as you rolled your fingers over your clit. How you’d picture my cock when you fucked yourself. Because you do, don’t you? You still picture me because no one has ever made you come alive the way I did. Isn’t that right, B?”
Oh, God. I’m screwed now, so why the hell do I find myself nodding, giving up my worst-kept secrets. “Yes,” I breathe, hanging on his every word, completely captivated by the very sound of his tone. “Only ever you.”
“That’s what I thought,” he rumbles, that deep tone thickening with the most intense desire, his lips hovering right by my ear. “Let me be clear, Blair. I will not fuck you until you’re on your knees begging me to touch you again. Begging for me to take you back.”
My hands start to shake, hunger pooling deep in my core, and just as I reach for him, he pulls away, stepping back and letting the cool air rush between us. “You’re drunk, Blair. Go to bed.”
I swallow hard, his rejection hitting me right where it hurts, but fuck, I deserve it more than I think I could ever really understand.
Nick doesn’t hang around, not risking that lack of control he seems to have developed, and before I can even fully register that he’s walked away, I hear the heavy thud of the front door closing behind him.
Asshole. What kind of man leaves his girl wanting like this? But I guess I’m not really his girl anymore.
Shit. Did he say he’s thought about me touching myself every night for the past six years? Now I know I’ve had far too much to drink tonight, and getting my wires crossed where Nick is concerned is a favorite pastime of mine, but surely I didn’t misunderstand him, right? Because no red-blooded man is just lying in bed with his hands casually hanging by his sides while thinking about a woman getting off.
I might have been thinking about him while going to town on myself, but he sure as hell has been thinking about me too, and that little bit of knowledge has a wicked grin stretching across my face.
Nick pictures me in bed. He curls his strong fingers around that thick cock and fucks himself while thinking about being with me.
Holy shit.
I don’t know why this is coming as such a surprise. After all these years, despite everything that’s been said and done over the past few days, I didn’t expect him to still think of me that way. Sure, I thought there was a good possibility that he’d still love me. No one ever gets over their first love, but to think about me sexually . . . shit. It’s a sobering thought, and I hate that I like it so much.
My thighs start to tremble. Rena was on to something about creating a naughty list.
Does he picture my face? My lips? The way my body would move as I ride him? Or does he picture me on my knees, taking me from behind with that strong hand firmly gripping my ass? Does he imagine how warm I would feel, how wet and needy I would be, or how my walls would squeeze around him, fitting so perfectly as though my body was made just for him?