Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
By the time I slide under the covers, the house is wrapped in silence. Grayce’s white-noise machine hums through the monitor on my nightstand.
I should feel calm, if not content.
Instead, I stare at the ceiling, guilt gnawing holes in my chest.
A mere hour and a half ago, Atlas’s team won the second home game in the second round of the playoffs against the Detroit Cardinals.
I wasn’t there.
He asked me to come and I could tell it was important to him, but I just couldn’t do it. While I reconciled my guilt for leaving Grayce when I attended the first game, I can’t do it twice in one week.
Atlas nodded, said he understood and kissed me. I know what being in the arena means to him. I know what it would mean to be seen there, in the stands, cheering him on.
And still, he told me it was okay to not be there.
It was genuine and I believed him, but I still feel guilty.
The silence is broken by the front door unlocking. The sound travels effortlessly over the hardwood floors and up the staircase, through my open bedroom door. I left a lamp on in the living room, plenty of light for Atlas to find his way to his bedroom without bumping into furniture. My breath jerks just at the thought of him being in the same house as me, a testament to how much I want the man.
I have no clue why he’s home. I assumed he’d go out with his teammates like we did night before last. If there’s ever a reason to celebrate, it’s tonight. I watched the game on TV, and the Titans are on fire.
My ears strain, listening to his footsteps across the living room where they should recede down the hall to his room. Instead, I hear the first gentle thump on the bottom stair.
Another step.
Heartbeat racing, I count each step and at the top, I expect him to turn right toward Grayce’s room. He’d want to check on her, of course.
Instead, they come my way and then his shadow looms in the open doorway. I hold still, hardly daring to breathe. He stands there a moment, peering at me through the shadows, and I can feel his indecision. I silently beg him to come closer and when he does, my mouth curves into an unbidden smile.
His silhouette is perfectly formed against the moonlight filtering in through slatted blinds, and I find it beautiful to watch him undress. Peeling away layers of clothing until he’s naked.
The mattress dips.
My breath jerks and I roll toward the sound, heart thudding, and then I smell him—clean soap and probably secret pheromones that make me want him so bad, I’m almost shaking with need.
He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t ask. Just slips beneath the covers like he belongs here, big body radiating heat into the cool space of my bed.
“You’re supposed to be out celebrating,” I whisper, my voice rough from disuse.
“Didn’t want to,” he says, almost a growl as he pulls me closer.
I blink at him in the dimness, surprised. “Your team just went up two-nothing in the series.”
“Best part of the night was getting here.”
The words sit heavy in my chest. He says it so simply, no grand gesture, no fanfare. Just truth, and that woman who wants to be wanted… well, she accepts the joy it brings her even as she doubts it will always be this way.
His hand slides down my arm. His palm is warm, calloused and steady. I feels like an anchor and he tugs me closer until I’m flush against his chest.
The kiss is soft at first, but my pulse immediately kicks into overdrive. His mouth deepens on mine, his hand burrows into my hair, and I melt against him.
These aren’t the normal fireworks between us. It’s gentle and reverent, and somehow it seems more dangerous because of how safe it feels.
Atlas removes my clothes in between stolen kisses, each piece discarded like it never mattered. His hands map every inch of me, and I do the same to him. He’s all solid muscle and warm skin, all man.
We move together slowly, unhurried but inevitable. Our fingers lace, our breathing becomes heavy, and we submit to the rise and fall of the pleasure surging between us with whispered words.
When release finally comes, it’s not a sharp explosion but an opening of the floodgates that leaves me boneless against him. We collapse into the tangle of sheets and each other, and in the end, I am back in his arms where he holds me steady, safe and secure.
I don’t want to move. Don’t want to breathe wrong and break the spell.
“You good?” he asks, arm locking tight around me. It feels secure, a feeling I rarely experience.
“Better than good,” I murmur, the mellowness sweeping through me. There’s no thought to having him leave this bed.