Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I keep my mouth off his?
Even as I thought this, my hand came up to grip his jaw and hold him in place, changing the angle of our kiss. His stubble rasped against my palm, a delicious friction that sent heat spiraling down to my groin.
Adrian made a sound—half whimper of surprise, half groan of pleasure—that vibrated against my lips. His fingers were hot against the skin of my back, and I shuddered. The way he touched me was nothing like I’d expected. Not calculated or performative, but hungry. Desperate.
“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he murmured against my neck, dragging his teeth across my skin.
“That makes two of us,” I admitted, sliding my hand into his hair to tug his head back. As soon as his throat was exposed, I latched onto it with a deep suck. His pulse raced beneath my lips, proof that his polished exterior was hiding something wilder.
When my teeth grazed the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, he cursed and arched against me, grinding his hard cock against mine. The friction was maddening, even through our clothes. I wanted more. More heat, more skin, more Adrian.
“Too much goddamned flannel,” he complained, already working at the buttons of my shirt with fumbling fingers.
I should have stopped him. Should have remembered all the reasons this was a terrible idea—Adrian was temporary, he would leave, this was just another experience for him to collect and discard. But my body refused to listen to logic as his hands made short work of my shirt buttons.
“I never understood the lumberjack fantasy before, but fuck,” Adrian said, his voice rougher than usual as he pushed the fabric from my shoulders. “I get it now.”
“Yeah?” I asked, enjoying the strength of his reaction. “Something about this doing it for you?”
His fingers traced the contours of my chest, skimming over my nipples in a way that made my breath catch. “Yes,” he said simply, and something in his tone cut through the haze of desire.
The word hit me strangely. Gave me an unexpected sense of pride or something. I quickly shook off the thought, not wanting this to be anything but physical. Nothing complicated. Nothing with expectations. That shit would only lead to disappointment when he was gone.
So instead of responding, I grabbed the hem of his ridiculous designer henley and yanked it upward with a grunted “Off.”
Adrian complied with surprising eagerness, lifting his arms so I could pull the shirt over his head. The firelight threw golden shadows across the planes of his chest and abdomen, highlighting muscles that were more defined than anyone had a right to have during cookie season.
“Like what you see?” he asked, turning it back around on me. There was a note of genuine curiosity in his voice, as if he truly cared what I thought of him.
I answered by lowering my head to his collarbone, tasting salt and expensive shower products. He gasped, hands moving to my shoulders, fingers digging in as I trailed my mouth down his chest. I scraped my teeth over his nipple, and the wobbly sound he made sent a surge of heat straight to my groin.
“Maddox,” he breathed, fingers moving to grip my hair in a silent demand.
The sofa was too small, too constraining for what I wanted to do to him. I broke away, standing abruptly. Before he could protest, I grabbed his hand and pulled him up with me.
“Where—?” he started, but I cut him off with another kiss, walking him backward toward the hall.
We stumbled to his bedroom, unwilling to break contact, bumping into walls and doorframes. My hands found the button of his jeans, popping it open with more coordination than I expected in my current state. Adrian moaned into my mouth when my fingers brushed against his hard shaft through his boxer-briefs.
“These feel good. Maybe they’re Nordique after all,” I teased against his lips. “You wearing fancy pants for me, city boy?”
“I’ve thought about this, you know,” he said, surprising me. “About your hands on me.”
“Just my hands?” I asked gruffly before backing him against the wall and dropping to my knees.
The sound of my knees hitting the wooden floor echoed in the room despite the storm raging outside. Adrian stared down at me, eyes wide, lips parted in shock. This wasn’t in our script. This wasn’t sarcastic disapproval, and it sure as hell wasn’t any kind of attempt at professionalism. This was me, on my knees, choosing vulnerability in a way I rarely allowed myself.
“Maddox,” he whispered again, reverence and uncertainty mingling in his voice.
For a second, he looked breakable. Not fragile, but human in a way his curated persona never allowed.
I held his gaze as I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down along with the black boxer-briefs. His cock sprang free, already hard and leaking, the tip glistening in the dim light filtering from the living room.