Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Come on,” he said, shaking his head at me. “There was a lot of good shit.”
“I guess that’s the problem then,” I said, shrugging.
“What does that mean?”
“If you had always been a dick, I wouldn’t have been so hurt about you leaving like that.”
“You wish I’d been a dick to you?” he asked, lips twitching a bit. “Lulu, you’d have kicked my ass if I’d so much as looked at you wrong,” he said.
“So, what? You were nice to me because you were afraid of me?”
“I was nice to you because I lo—because I liked you. But I’m not going to deny that you’ve always had a psycho side, and I wasn’t willing to wake up to you trying to saw off my balls.”
“Trying,” I scoffed. “I’d have had them off before you even knew what was happening,” I told him, letting myself smile at the chuckle he let out. “Are you going to give me my towel or not?” I asked.
“Still debating that,” he said, smile going from amused to sultry in a second flat. “Kind of enjoying the view for the moment,” he admitted as he took a couple steps inward.
I had to admit, I was enjoying my view as well.
I usually tried to avert my eyes when he wasn’t fully dressed around me. First, because I’d be damned if he caught me looking at him. But second, because I knew that my body still reacted to him with some sort of sense memory, leaving me turned on in seconds flat. With no hopes of relief.
“Valen, please,” I said, hoping the desperation that was slowly but surely working its way through my system was not clear in my voice.
“Please what? Please give you the towel and fuck off, or please remind me of how good things could be when we happened to find each other without clothes on?” Valen asked as he stepped closer still.
Too close.
Far too close.
My body was practically humming with the need to feel his touch.
“We can’t,” I insisted, trying to hold onto that last little bit of resistance.
“Hmm,” he said, and he was almost close enough to feel that sound vibrate through his chest. “Maybe we can’t,” he agreed, and when I tell you that the disappointment inside me was strong, I mean I damn near doubled over from it. “But maybe I can,” he added.
The wicked smirk he shot me was instantly familiar, something I’d seen hundreds of times.
Before I could understand his intentions, though, he was down on his knees in front of me, and carefully reaching for the ankle of my bad leg, and coaxing it wider just a second before his face was between my thighs.
I was pretty sure my vision went white for a second there.
Shock and need and the whole forbidden aspect just mingled together into this heady cocktail that made me instantly drunk.
No.
Not just drunk.
Plastered.
Fucking obliterated.
So out of it that any thoughts to objection flew right out of my head.
Then all there was… was him.
His tongue sliding up my cleft and working my clit with the familiarity of hundreds of times before, with the perfect pressure and the exact right movements.
I swear my thighs started to shake almost instantly.
Feeling it, Valen’s hand pressed to my belly, pushing me back a step until my back met the cold wall of the shower, letting it hold me up as he continued to work me.
Logically, I knew I needed to push him away. I knew I was going to lose the upper hand. Or whatever ground I had to stand on.
I couldn’t claim to hate him when I’d allowed him to go down on me, could I?
I maybe could have excused sex. I mean, a good, solid hatefuck would be easy to explain away.
But this?
Even as I thought that, though, he was driving me up, pushing me right to that edge.
His fingers moved between us, slipping inside of me. As my walls tightened around him, he let out a growl of approval around my clit, something that damn near shattered me right then and there.
But then his fingers started to thrust as his lips and tongue kept up the perfect pace and pressure.
My hand slapped down on the back of his neck, fingernails digging crescents into his skin as he got me closer and closer, as I felt the forbidden orgasm slam through my system, washing away anything but the pleasure.
For a whole, oh, two minutes tops.
Then it all came crashing back.
As if sensing it, when he pulled back to look up at me, his eyes were heated, sure, but also triumphant.
Because he’d won.
And he knew it.
Damnit.
Damnit.
“I hope you enjoyed that,” I told him as I pulled my leg down, finding myself almost glad for the pain from my wounds because they steeled my reserve and made my words come out with a bit of a bite. “Because it is never going to happen again,” I added, pushing him back a step.