Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
I combust. I burn everywhere. A forest fire eats me alive, wraps me in flames. There is no other answer but yes. “Yes. Do it. Give it to me now,” I urge.
With a savage groan, he weaves his fingers into my hair, drives into me hard, then shudders, flooding me with his hot release. I grip the base of my cock, holding it tight to stave off the orgasm that pulses just below the surface of my skin. Gritting my teeth, I fight it like I’m trying to scare away a bear.
With a wild breath, Declan pulls out, reaches for the lube, and tosses it to me. My man shifts to all fours. A few thrusts of my fingers to ease the way and get him ready, then I coat my aching length, notch the head of my cock against him, and sink inside.
I grip his hips hard as I bottom out, his body squeezing me nice and tight. My breath comes in sharp gasps as a wild, needy burst of ecstasy charges through me, sparking everywhere.
Noises rip from my throat, the sweet torment of a release just out of reach.
So close. So damn close.
He jerks his gaze back at me, eyes shimmering with lust. “Give it to me. I fucking love you. I fucking love you so much.”
And that’s enough.
Lust takes me hostage. I snap my hips and ride him all the way to dirty heaven. I come like a fountain from his words, his touch, his love, his possession, his passion.
This is my fantasy. This is our reality.
This is our life.
And it’s spectacular.
44
Grant
The next two days are a whirlwind of baseball games and schedules, phone calls and plans.
Declan and I go super domestic in the mornings, figuring out what he needs and wants from his place in New York, and what he can donate.
“I don’t want you to feel like this home isn’t yours,” I say, gesturing to the kitchen, living room, and beyond. “You can ship whatever you want, and we’ll make room for it.”
As he drinks his coffee, he rolls his eyes. “Yes, I care about furniture so much.”
“All I’m saying is if you hate my sex couch, we can get a new one.”
“Gee. Can we please go to IKEA next weekend?”
“Smart ass.”
He leans across the counter and gives me a peck. “Furniture is whatever. I love our sex couch. I do request one ground rule, though.”
“You and your rules,” I toss back.
“You ready?”
I straighten my spine. “Yes, we will have sex every day we’re together. You don’t have to make it a rule, man. I already plan on religiously following that.”
Declan laughs hard, shaking his head. He slides his hand across the counter, reaching for mine. “The rule is this—I don’t want to be your kept man.”
My eyebrows shoot into my hairline. “Was that a previous option? Because I feel like the trophy-boy thing goes the other way. I am four years younger.”
I earn an eye roll for that sass.
“Seriously, though,” I say. “What do you mean? Like, you want to split the monthly porn bill?” I brush my hands together. “Sure, done. You can pay me back with eleven dollars a month in coffee. We good?”
He sighs heavily, shaking his head. “I’m going to sell my place in New York. And I don’t need to buy a place here since I’m living with you.”
I shoot him a searing look. “No, you’re not living with me. We live together.”
“Yes, and my point is, I want us to be . . .”
For a second, it sounds like he’s going to say partners, and I’m not ready for that. Not yet. Doesn’t seem like he is, either, since he takes a breath, then continues, “I want us to be in this together. So, can I pay half the mortgage?”
I bark out a laugh as I move around the counter, set my hands on his shoulders, and meet his eyes. “Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t have a mortgage. I own this house free and clear.” I sweep a kiss to his lips. “Just like I bet you did in New York.”
He dips his head, laughing. “Yes, I owned it outright too.” He raises his face. “I guess that means I’m going to have to buy us a condo on South Beach.”
I smile salaciously. “Miami, here we come.” I glance at the clock. “Want to go see my grandma and grandpa?”
“I absolutely do.”
We get in my car and drive across the bridge to Sausalito, where we meet my grandparents at a coffee shop that looks out on Richardson Bay. There’s a chance we could be seen, so we don’t hold hands.
We have a plan for how we’ll come out.
For now, I walk next to my guy, heading for the two people who are like my parents. They’re waiting in the back corner of the coffee shop, and Grandpa stands and smiles when he spots us. “Good to see you again, Declan,” he says.