Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
The corner of her mouth lifts, like she’s trying to fight a smile. And maybe it’s the porch light or the distance between us, but she’s got that glow about her again. Like she’s the only damn thing lighting up this night.
“And for the record,” I add, my voice lower, thicker, “it’s really fucking hard to sit next to you and not kiss you.”
Her cheeks flush instantly, and I get the sense she wants me to, but there’s hesitation in her demeanor, a flicker of restraint she’s clinging to like a lifeline.
“You don’t have to,” I tell her, quiet. “I just wanted you to know how I feel. I’m not good with words. I’ve said more to you these last few weeks than I’ve probably said to anyone all year.”
She lights, her eyes dancing. “You sure about that? You were pretty vocal when we—”
I groan, feeling the heat rush to my face. “Don’t remind me.”
She laughs, clamping a hand over her mouth, and I can’t help but laugh too.
“I had no idea where any of that came from,” I admit, still slightly embarrassed at the words that left my mouth that day as I was buried deep inside her. “Took me by surprise too.”
I look her over, the way she’s sitting there in her not-quite-sheer pajama top and matching shorts, her bare legs crossed, her hair messy from the day.
“It was primal,” I say, my voice dipping lower. “Taking you over the back of my tailgate like that. You’re so independent and strong, but when I had your hips in my hands and you just . . . surrendered to me—I couldn’t think of anything else but owning every inch of you.”
That does it.
She’s flushed now, visibly affected, her thighs pressing tighter together, her breath growing slightly uneven as she exhales.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, but I know.
She shakes her head, insistent. “Nothing. Just thinking about that. It was really hot, but it happened so fast. Almost feels like a fever dream.”
“Yeah.” I drag my palm along my beard. “If we could do it all over again, I’d take my time.”
She watches me, eyes glinting in the porch light, unreadable but wanting.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, needing to know. I’ve never cared or put too much thought into what other people are thinking, but with her, I’d kill to know what’s going through that pretty little head of hers, especially when she’s looking at me like I’m the only man in the world.
“Things I have no business thinking about.”
I smile. “Yeah? Like what?”
She bites her lip, just a little, and tilts her head. “You tell me first.”
I don’t hesitate. “I’m thinking about how good it would feel having you in my arms again.”
It’s a bold statement, but saying it now, when she’s receptive and looking at me like she’s seconds from pouncing, it feels safe to say.
Her eyes flick down to my mouth and back up, and then, without a word, she climbs into my lap. She’s straddling me now, her knees on either side of my hips, her hands tentative on my shoulders.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she whispers.
“You won’t.”
She kisses me, hot and hungry, and I kiss her back twice as hard. My hands grip her waist, pulling her closer, her body pressing to mine in a way that makes my head spin. Her mouth is soft, eager, tasting like remnants of some sweet wine she must’ve drank earlier.
I slide my hands up her back, fingers tangling in her hair, tilting her head back to taste her neck, deeper, slower. She makes this small sound in her throat that damn near undoes me.
When I finally pull back, we’re both breathless.
“Come inside,” she whispers against my lips.
She doesn’t need to tell me twice.
“But we have to be quiet. Atticus is sleeping,” she adds.
I lift her, her legs hooking around my waist like she belongs there, her mouth never leaving mine. She tastes sweet, like the wine she was drinking earlier, like the kind of indulgence a man could get addicted to if he’s not careful.
She’s warm and soft against me, fingers twisting in the hair at the back of my neck, her breath shallow and hot.
I carry her through the front door, up the stairs, guided by muscle memory more than sight. The whole time, she kisses me like she’s starving, like I’m the only thing that’s ever made sense.
By the time we make it to her room, we’re both breathing heavy. The bed’s unmade, the window cracked open just enough to let in the night air. It’s cool against my overheated skin.
I set her down gently, standing between her knees. She’s looking up at me, her hair a mess, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen from kissing.
I push her hair back from her face, my thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. She looks so fucking beautiful it guts me. And those eyes? The way she looks at me? Half drunk on wine and half drunk on me? I’m a goner.