Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
He had full control of her body in this position, and he took it, impaling her in fluid, possessing thrusts. Her breaths came faster, his caresses rough and greedy. His hips snapped in a fury.
He rode her with a single-minded focus, parting that jaw, staring into her eyes, and chasing her urgent sounds with growly, winded grunts. Then he drove her into a back-arching, body-shaking, screaming orgasm so powerful that she damn near blacked out.
As she fell apart beneath him, he threw his head back and braced himself on outstretched arms, stiffening, shuddering in the throes of his release.
His roaring, volcanic pleasure was such a glorious sight to witness. She could spend the rest of her life doing nothing else but watching him come.
His dark bedroom eyes looked dazed, lust-drunk, and terrifyingly, thrillingly in love as he stared at her and bucked, jerked, and thrust his way through ejaculation. His lips parted. His neck corded, and his gaze clung. He seemed helpless to hold the smallest part of himself back as he spent himself in an endless climax within her.
She was melting. Slipping. Falling like a feather on the wind. As long as she was in his arms, she never wanted to touch the ground.
“Touch the ground.” Danni rudely snapped her fingers, setting Lydia’s teeth on edge. “When you shimmy down, go all the way down. Fingertips to the floor. None of this halfway bullshit. And loosen those hips! Start again from the top.”
After five days of dance instruction, Lydia wanted to wring the woman’s neck. The sweet little blonde from the first night had vanished the moment she donned a leotard. Danni Savoy was a goddamn Dance Nazi.
Every time Lydia tripped, forgot a step, or copped an attitude, she was met with Danni’s withering glare. If her spine bent incorrectly, it earned her a stinging pinch from Danni’s hand. If she did a butt-wiggle instead of a figure-eight-sway, she got a scolding swat on the ass.
Her feet ached in the heels. Her muscles protested every brutal, repetitive movement, and her heart fought it all, because more than anything, it just wanted to heal.
The days and nights swirled into a fugue of sweating and swaying and tapping and sliding. She was naturally uncoordinated, stiff through the hips, and not always receptive to Danni’s criticism.
But she was making progress. Huge progress.
Watching herself in the mirror, she focused on transforming her feelings into movements. Music had the power to connect the soul with the senses, and for the past five days, Danni had been teaching her how to achieve that.
“Let your body loose. Like this.” Danni gripped her hips from behind, moving her, demonstrating for the thousandth time how to catch the rhythm. “A stiff frame can’t move. Surrender your joints, your muscles, your breaths. Allow the music to control your movements all the way to the floor. See?”
Despite Danni’s pregnancy, she had no trouble sweating it out on the dance floor for twelve hours every day. Lydia studied Danni’s reflection in the mirror, mimicking the descending, rippling silhouette of Danni’s cute body as they undulated together, down, down, down to the ground and back up.
Techno music thumped from the speakers. Just one of the many dance genres she’d learned how to groove to. Different nightclubs offered different kinds of music, and she needed to adapt to each style as the music changed.
And so it went. Hour after hour, day after day, Lydia practiced no less than fifty dance moves and transition techniques.
At her request, Cole stayed away during the lessons. He was too distracting, his gaze too invasive and penetrating. She couldn’t work with him stalking the perimeter of the room, consuming her senses, demanding her attention.
But they always reconnected at night amid tangled sheets. With each possessive thrust, it was no longer enough just to hear him roaring her name as they finished together.
She wanted more.
Lovers had come and gone throughout her life. She remembered none of them, never pursued anything more than a five-second fling.
Cole wasn’t a lover. He was an unprecedented, decadent experience. His perseverance, dedication, and loyalty was unlike any man she’d ever been with. And let’s be honest. There was no one as insanely, unreasonably gorgeous as Cole Hartman.
Whether they were sharing conversation, food, or body fluids, she didn’t want it to end. She often caught herself thinking about her life after this mission, and she always circled back to one undeniable truth. She wanted a future with Cole.
Mike would’ve wanted that for her. On Christmas Eve, he let Cole into their home, into their life, because he knew.
Cole belonged to her. He was the one. If she didn’t believe Cole’s words, she only had to look into his unyielding brown eyes. She would have to cut off his legs if she ever tried to run from him. Until his last breath, he would chase her to the ends of the earth.