Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Sweet Jesus, there was something wrong with me. Norfolk was in the other direction, basically. And I was what, thinking about driving him to his parents’ house? And then drive four hours back to DC?
I couldn’t be that desperate to spend more time with him. It was insane. We’d had a hot night. A wonderful evening to wrap up a disastrous week. A nice breakfast.
And maybe one more round in bed? He didn’t check out until noon.
“Let’s go to the bus station, then,” I said. “Perhaps we can kill some time at the hotel after.”
Colt lifted a brow and barely contained the expression that told me he knew what was on my mind. Smug bastard. “You need more cock, baby?”
“Need is a very strong word,” I drawled.
He laughed.
The urgency was supposed to dissipate after we’d gotten off. Instead, he stayed on top of me, buried deep, and kissed me with the same hunger I felt.
I was fucking high on this man.
Once we weren’t panting anymore, I took charge of the kiss. I wove my fingers into his hair and tugged, angling his head where I could kiss him deeper. He groaned lustfully and cupped my cheek. Then he gave a slow thrust, pushing his softening cock deeper, and it drew a shudder from me.
I swept my tongue around his and breathed heavily, fully aware that we were down to the final minutes of our…whatever this had been. Maybe he was just as aware. Maybe that was why he pushed harder, took control again, and kissed me more forcefully.
My heart pounded. The sheets were a twisted mess. My feet slid up his calves, locking him into place. My blunt fingernails raked their way down his back. He exhaled a moan and pressed our upper bodies together, evidently not giving a shit about the release he’d stroked out of me.
Fuck his fucking bus ticket. He had it in the back pocket of his jeans that were thrown somewhere on the floor.
“What time is it?” I muttered, out of breath.
“Don’t remind me.” He dragged his teeth along my bottom lip and gave it a sharp nip. “Had I been fifteen years younger, I would’ve taken you again right now.”
I coughed around a hoarse chuckle and surrendered. If I didn’t offer to take him to Norfolk, I’d regret it. No matter how crazy it was.
“Don’t take the bus,” I told him quietly. That halted all movement, and he furrowed his brow as he looked down at me. I kissed him on his scruffy chin. “I’ll drive you to your parents’ house.”
A silence stretched between us, but I didn’t waver. I could see where his mind went. The questions, the doubt. Yes, I was aware that I’d drive two hours in the wrong direction. Yes, I knew I would be leaving Norfolk in the middle of the night for a four-hour drive to DC. I didn’t care. I wasn’t willing to read into anything beyond that, but I was sure. I wanted a few more hours. I wanted today.
“Are you sure?” He pressed his forehead to mine. “This is nuts, innit?”
Yes to both.
“I’m sure,” I replied. “We’ll head out tonight.”
And I was going to walk down to reception and book us an extra night just so we didn’t have to check out until tonight. Screw it. This was what I wanted.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked with a frown. “The person who drives is in charge of the radio.”
“Not if the driver has shitty taste in music.” Colt fiddled with the channels until he landed on a country station. Then he nodded in satisfaction and sat back again with his fries. “I have so much to teach you.”
I shook my head. “There is nothing wrong with the music I play.” I dug into the McDonald’s bag between us and threw a few fries into my mouth. “Everyone loves Bruce Springsteen.”
“Overrated is what he is,” Colt informed me. “I’ll give him three songs. ‘Born in the U.S.A.,’ ‘The River,’ and ‘I’m on Fire.’ The rest…? He sounds like he hates life when he sings. ’Scuse me, when he whines.”
I pressed my lips together to hide my amusement. He was…passionate about this.
I switched lanes to pass, comically enough, a Greyhound bus. “It’s funny to me that you complain about The Boss whining when you’re seemingly obsessed with a genre that has two very depressing themes. Either someone gets shot down by the creek, or they drink their sorrows away at a sad bar.”
Colt shot me a scowl.
I grinned and unwrapped my last cheeseburger. “Sorry, I forgot the dog. Country songs tend to have dogs.”
He snorted. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout, slick.” At first, it looked like he was going to settle into silence and enjoy his damn country music, but then he caught a second wind and laid into me. “You know, you’re the reason us real southerners don’t like it when people say Virginia’s part of the South.”