Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
I don’t know why that gives me an odd sense of hope.
This idea that she could be back for good, knowing there’s no job waiting for her back in Florida.
Though maybe she has other things that hold her there.
Other people.
That’s an idea I don’t like.
Thinking there’s some lucky little fuckstick waiting with blue balls back in Miami, texting her every day how much he misses her, calling her lover, anxiously waiting for her to come home.
Fuck, I can’t.
Though she wouldn’t have kissed me if she had someone else—would she?
She damn sure wouldn’t have shared another man’s bed for a glorified sleepover my cock wishes had turned into more.
I stare at her for a solid minute, searching for a way to ask tactfully.
I’m coming up at a loss.
How the fuck do I even bring up relationships?
The longer I look at her, the deeper she blushes, this pretty pink flush flowering across her cheeks like a drop of red dye spreading through water.
“You can stop staring like that any time, y’know.” She ducks her head shyly, breaking eye contact as she tucks a few locks of honey-blonde hair behind her ear.
“Like what?” I growl.
“Like you’re trying to figure out what rock I crawled out from under.”
I snort. “That ain’t why I’m staring, Philia.”
“Yeah? Then why?” She peeks at me sidelong.
“One, because you’re goddamned gorgeous in the morning light and I’ve been trying not to look since you came home,” I point out. Fuck it. When in doubt, be honest. Her eyes widen as I continue. “Two, I’m trying to figure out how to ask why you kissed me like you were dying last night.”
She winces—and turns it into a scowl. “Do you have to make it sound so awful?”
Awful?
Hell no.
“I’m not trying to—goddammit, I am not doing this with you again, I—” My jaw clamps shut.
Every time.
Every fucking time, my words come out mangled and she ends up mad.
Fine, if I can’t talk right, I’ll show her.
I ignore the way her pretty face sets in lines of confusion and snapping anger.
Catching her around the waist, I slip under the tangle of blankets to find her, curling my hands against the soft breadth of her.
I feel it when she sucks in a breath, her skin going taut underneath her shirt and my palms.
Before that breath comes out in yet another argument, I pull her close and capture her mouth in a searing kiss.
Fuck.
I feel like I’ve been waiting to devour this mouth my entire life.
Because even if there’s only been one other kiss, it’s like I already know her lips inside and out from the countless times I’ve dreamed about taking her in my arms and tasting every inch of her.
There’s a moment of stiffness before she goes soft against me, pliant and willing, her lips opening against mine with a low moan that cuts me open.
Their softness drives me out of my goddamned mind.
This woman drives me insane.
She always fucking has.
How can I keep pretending that I haven’t always wanted her to be mine?
With a rough growl, I seize her, crushing our lips together, catching the curious flick of her tongue with mine.
We twine tongues until we’re shamelessly tangled, all roughness and stroking and teasing as I slick my tongue along hers, chasing that moan.
Give it the fuck up, Butterfly.
I don’t deny it’s pure lunacy.
She makes me so greedy it’s like I’m trying to mark her, brand her, leave a lingering imprint so she feels me no matter where she is.
Then maybe she’ll never run from Redhaven again.
She’ll never run away from me.
Goddamn, she’s the sweetest fire known to man.
The way she clutches at me with her little nails scratching against my chest goes right to my heart and then to my cock.
With a rough groan, I drag her against me, pulling her in tight until we’re pressed so close. The soft swell of her breasts crush against my chest, her nipples perked and insistent.
The explosive pressure makes it hard to think with every pulse roaring.
There isn’t a coherent thought except how badly I want to be inside her.
When Ophelia feels better than my wildest dreams come to life, it’s hard as hell to make myself let her go.
But when she breaks away with a gasp, her mouth swollen to a luscious pink from my teeth, I stop.
I force myself still as she looks at me, dazed, her hands braced against my chest as she puts some sorely needed distance between us.
Damn, what have I done?
“Grant?” she breathes. That sleepy burr to her voice feels silkier than ever, and it’s doing some black magic shit to me. “What are we doing?”
“No fucking clue,” I grind out. “But I feel like we should’ve done it years ago.”
Ophelia’s lower lip creeps between her teeth.
“Nell was serious? You really thought about me all this time?”
Guilty.
I feel like I’ve been sitting on this secret so long it’s almost a sacrilege to root it out and expose it to the light. Or maybe I’ve always been so certain it was a lost cause, so I packed my feelings away somewhere I could protect them.