Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Ten minutes,” I finally breathe out, resigned and knowing I’ll regret this. “One drink.”
As soon as we’re on the other side of the door, he takes my wrist and guides me to the couch. We sit side by side, and he holds my hand loosely in his.
I glance from our joined hands to the bar. “What about your drink?”
“I’m not wasting my ten minutes on liquor.” He leans forward a little, tilting his head to catch my eyes. “Let’s talk, Hen. Like really talk.”
“What do we need to talk about?”
“I have a dilemma, and I was hoping you could help me.”
My brows bunch, and I’m surprised by the direction of the conversation. “What’s the dilemma?”
“How do I get you to give me a chance? Knowing that the situation with Zere is potentially messy and awkward… How do I get you to give me a chance anyway?”
“You don’t,” I answer without missing a beat, eyes never leaving his to make sure he knows I mean this. “I’m not choosing you over my show.”
“I’m not asking you to choose me over the show. I want you to consider us and what that could look like, if it might be worth at least trying.”
“I barely know you.” As soon as the words hit the air they sound like a lie. There is a knowing between us that I try to ignore and disregard. “Yet you want me to give up a dream of mine for years?”
“I’m absolutely not asking you to give up anything for me.” He frowns, gently tightening his fingers around mine when I try to pull away. “I wouldn’t do that. I’m just asking if we could find a solution to this dilemma.”
“Your dilemma.” I snatch my hand from his. “Not mine.”
“So you’re not attracted to me.” His brows lift. His words matter-of-fact.
“It’s irrelevant.”
I stand, and he does, too, bringing our bodies close again. He has a couple of inches on me, but I barely have to look up for our eyes and our lips to align. He grips my waist with one hand and threads his fingers with mine using the other. The look in his eyes intoxicates me. It’s a cocktail of affection and desire and impatience.
“Hen,” he says, leaning forward so his breath mists my lips. “You’re telling me something that fees like this is irrelevant?”
The intensity of emotion in his gaze blazes through my rationale and my reasons. I want to look away and hold on to the excuses I’ve been rehearsing of why this can never happen. The heat rising between our bodies melts everything except the centripetal force, impelling us to meet, to clash.
The kiss starts so quickly I’m not sure who initiates it. Maybe neither of us did consciously, but it explodes before I have time to prepare. Our mouths are open and desperate and searching. I wish I could say I’m not a willing participant, but that’s impossible since I’m sucking on his bottom lip and gripping his neck to pull him in deeper. He groans against my mouth, his hand roaming down my back, squeezing my waist. The plunging lash of his tongue over and over and over is a hungry rhythm I match lick for lick.
Without breaking the kiss, he guides us back and down to the couch, pulling me to straddle his lap. I follow without hesitation, whimpering at the feel of him, a hard column between my legs. Panting breaths mingle between our lips as I press down and he pushes up, a glorious grinding I have dreamed of more than one lonely night in my empty bed. Big hands slide from my waist down to squeeze my ass, then drag over my bare legs in long strokes. Layers of our clothing—the silk of panties, the roughness of denim—incinerate with the pace of our bodies twisting to find more friction. It shouldn’t feel this good, just the repetition of my hips moving over him, but wetness pools in my underwear and my muscles tighten. I hump him harder, faster, chasing that nirvana that only comes when—
“Shit.” I break our kiss to rest my forehead against his. “Mav, I’m gonna…”
My words are swallowed by a wave of pleasure swelling from the center of my body, and every thought is drowned. Every reason this isn’t a good idea, capsized in the torrent of this thing I can’t deny. I lower my head to his neck, hiding my face as my body quakes with release.
He grabs and lifts my chin, trapping my gaze with his.
“Show me,” he says, his voice harsh, edged with his own desperation. “Look me in my eyes when you come for me.”
And I do. I don’t look away as the pleasure crests and crashes over me, wresting a moan from my throat and tremors from my body. Never removing one article of clothing, looking into his eyes this way, I’m completely exposed, my desire undeniable and on full display. But I’m not alone. An almost-pained grimace twists his even features as he struggles for control. Harsh breaths push past his lips. He doesn’t avert his stare. He shows me everything—the desire and the restraint required not to take me. It makes me want him more.