Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
His hand gripped the back of my head. Instead of kissing me, which was what I expected, he lifted my chin so that I had to look at him. “Tell me you want this.”
I blinked at him. Usually when he did this, when he called an end to my attitude and manhandled me where he wanted me, there was an unspoken agreement that all verbal communication was over and he was in charge. I went where he put me and took what he gave.
As long as he didn’t give me attitude or emotion.
“No,” I said automatically, regretting it the instant it was out of my mouth. “Wait!”
His eyes widened a split second after I’d seen the spark in them dim. My heart thundered. Is he going to call a stop to this? Do I want him to?
No. Hell no.
“I…” My chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths. “I want this.”
“But you’re still angry at me.”
“Yes.”
He stared into my eyes. His own were glassy pools of verdant water on new grass. “Do you have any idea how much I want you? How much I’ve always wanted you? How scared I was when you—?”
My heart climbed into my throat. “Landry, stop talking. That… that isn’t what we’re about—”
His big hand moved between us and pressed firmly against my mouth. “I need you to stop talking. I don’t want to hear your lies.”
My lies? Mine? The irony of Lord fucking Landry saying those words was galling.
But at the same time, I had to admit… he wasn’t entirely wrong. I was a lying liar, too.
I’d come to some realizations in San Cordova about why I’d been holding myself back where Landry was concerned. For years, I’d accused him of being incapable of commitment and taking a relationship seriously while I’d been the one tap-dancing around the truth.
I cared about Landry. A lot. Too much.
Which was why it hurt so fucking badly that he’d been hiding such a large part of himself from me. His family. His name. His whole second life.
And while my anger was justified—more than justified, damn it!—it didn’t change the facts.
We weren’t enemies with benefits. Not anymore, if we ever had been.
I could tell by the look on Landry’s face he wasn’t going to leave me hard and aching, but I could also tell he was as angry and hurt as I was.
He’d been lying about who he was, yes. And I’d been lying about who he was to me.
He moved down my body, leaving his hand on my mouth with his impossibly long arms, and proceeded to wreck me with his mouth.
He took me to the edge over and over again with long sucks, breaking off as soon as I gave any wordless indication that I was on the precipice. Then, he’d tease me with short strokes and a grip that was just one degree too loose to bring me any relief while delivering teasing licks to my balls, my taint, and my hole that made me writhe with a different kind of pleasure. Just when I was ready to scream in frustration, he’d suck me down and begin the beautiful torture all over again.
Every time I bit out my frustration in a curse, something inside me realized that no one knew how to take me apart like Landry Davis. It was a masterclass in my own destruction, as if he’d been studying me for the past three years.
Landry had never edged and teased me for that long before because I’d never allowed it. If he’d drawn a sexual encounter out to the point I felt vulnerable, I’d always done something to provoke him into finishing because I’d known on some level that if I’d truly put myself in his control, all of the barriers I’d erected between us would come crashing down and leave me in the dust.
And it turned out I’d been right.
By the time he took mercy on me and finally let me come, his hand was long gone from my mouth, and I was clamping my own hand over it to keep from crying out. When the aftershocks of my orgasm subsided and I felt his hot, sticky release on my leg, I turned to thank him…
And found an empty bed.
After pulling myself together and cleaning up, I still couldn’t bring myself to show my face downstairs. The knowledge that I’d hurt Landry left me feeling like I’d just stepped onto a boat in unknown waters during a squall. I didn’t know how to navigate this.
While it was very tempting to believe my own excuses about why I’d blurted out the marriage lie in front of the Winthrops—that Landry needed my help—the truth was, I’d been suddenly, shockingly, viscerally jealous.
Jealous like a pampered dog guarding purloined table scraps. Irrational and primal. Unnecessary. Ridiculous.
But the feeling had been so sharp and bitter I hadn’t been able to stop myself from blurting out the word married, verbally pissing on the man, because what I’d really wanted to say was Mine.