Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
As he entered the villa, I smiled. “Aw, you’re finally carrying me over the threshold. It’s a little late for that, really, but better late than never.”
Casting me a distinctly unimpressed look, he carefully lowered me again and then closed the door behind us. “Do you think you can manage to walk up the stairs without falling flat on your face?”
“Absolutely.” I hooked my purse over my shoulder and held up my hands. “I got this. Watch.” I did in fact manage it, though there was some staggering and swaying, so I was thankful for the steadying palm he kept plastered to my lower back.
That same palm guided me into our bedroom. It also took part in undressing me. And stroking me. And finger-fucking me. And gripping my ass tight while he railed me with his cock, pretty much fucking me into the mattress.
Afterwards, we lay on our backs on the bed, struggling to catch our breath.
My eyes closed, I said, “Okay, so I did miss you.”
I felt him go still, but the tension swiftly leached out of his muscles. “Good.” The word was spoken so low that, honestly, I wasn’t sure it was spoken at all.
I opened my eyes, about to ask him if he’d just said something, but his mouth then latched onto mine as he kissed me slow and deep … and I completely forgot what I was going to say.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I woke the next morning to a yucky taste in my mouth, a pounding pain in my head, and a horrid churning sensation in my stomach. Hello, hangover.
I swallowed around a dry throat, the sound audible. God, I felt like complete shit. With cherries on top and everything. I would have rolled onto my side and curled up in a tight ball if I didn’t worry I might hurl.
At least I had no plans or commitments for the day. I could die in peace.
As the final sleep motes left my mind, clearing it, I became aware of something. Something that made my brow weakly knit in confusion.
A warm, heavy weight was resting on my stomach.
Wary of the light, I lifted my eyelids only slightly and gave my eyes a few seconds to adjust. I then very slowly turned my head, ignoring that it made the ache in my skull sharpen, and blinked hard to clear my blurry vision. And there was Dax. He lay flat on his stomach, sound asleep, one arm tossed over my front.
My pulse spiked. Well, this was different. A singular occurrence, in fact.
I would have been embarrassed if it was a case where I’d scooted over to him, but I wasn’t on his side of the mattress. He wasn’t on my side either. We’d seemingly edged closer to each other and met somewhere in the middle during sleep.
My chest went tight and warm, touched that he’d left his “spot.”
My brain, however, insisted that this would be an anomaly and not to read shit into it.
Personally, I felt it would be dumb to let myself imagine that it meant anything. But I could hope, couldn’t I?
The trouble was … I’d done a lot of hoping over the years when it came to relationships. Clinging to faith had never paid off before.
Ugh, I was too hungover to mentally juggle all this.
Switching my gaze to the ceiling, I pressed my fingertips hard against my pulsing temples. I needed painkillers pronto.
My memories of the previous night were a little fuzzy in places, but I didn’t seem to have huge gaps in my—
I stilled as a particular memory hit me. Oh God, I told him I’d missed him.
You dumb heifer.
Slapping a hand over my eyes, I groaned in total mortification.
Dax stirred beside me at the sound, pulling in a breath. “Morning,” he greeted, his voice all thick and rumbly from sleep.
“I hate wine,” I whispered, not in the least bit impressed when I sensed his shoulders shake. Removing my hand from my face, I looked at him again, my gaze narrowing at the amused smile he wore. “Something funny?”
Ignoring my question, he raked his gaze over my face, not bothering to shrink his smile. “How do you feel?”
“Peachy.”
His smile amped up a notch, taking on a superior quality. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”
This motherfucker. “That was plain insensitive.”
He gave a slight shrug. “Doesn’t make me wrong.” He eased onto his side, pulling back his arm. “Go shower. You smell like a winery.”
“Flatterer.” Given he’d be well-aware I was in no condition to indulge in shower sex, I had no doubt that I’d be showering alone this morning.
We didn’t regularly shower together. When we did, it always went the same way: we each took care of washing our own bodies and hair, he sat back and watched while I finished since he was always done first, and then we’d fuck.