Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Wall,” I whisper. “You promised me a wall.”
“This works,” he says, pressing my body to the door. He kisses me like he’s checking off a list he wrote in the middle of the night: mouth, cheek, throat, back to mouth—careful, insistent, unhurried and somehow starving. When I tug his hair, just enough to test the edge, he answers with a low sound that ricochets straight through my restraint.
“Arrow,” I gasp, and he smiles against my skin.
“Use your words,” he says, maddening and hot. “You want pace? You want slow? Fast? Tell me.”
“Both,” I say, shameless. “Slow enough to make me crazy, then fast enough to undo me.”
His laugh is a huff against my collarbone. “Copy.”
We find a rhythm. He kisses like a musician who has finally learned the song he wrote before he knew what writing was for. He’s meticulous—small adjustments, tiny tests—and demanding in a way that makes me feel safe being greedy. His fingers bracket my jaw; his thumb skates the corner of my mouth, and the eye contact as I chase his finger with my lips is so intimate I nearly combust.
The coffee carrier gives up and slides off the table with a soft clatter. We both freeze, then dissolve into breathless laughter, foreheads pressed. He rests there a second, eyes closed, and I trace the line of his cheekbone with my fingertip, memorizing the tiny constellation of freckles there like I’m going to need them to navigate later.
“I’m still mad at you,” I whisper, because truth is a thing I promised to keep between us.
“I know,” he says, equally soft, equally true.
“And I still want you,” I add, the words buzzing in the inch of air between us.
“I know that too,” he says, and the flicker of a smile is all heat and fondness and caution. “I won’t mistake one for permission to ignore the other.”
“Good,” I say, and kiss him for that alone.
He breaks away only to frame my face in his hands. “Breathe with me,” he murmurs. “Five.” He counts with me, inhales and exhales matching, our chests rising and falling in sync until the edges blur and my pulse stops sprinting. “Better?”
“Yes,” I say, partly because the breathing helps and partly because the way he takes charge without taking over makes my bones feel like a home I want to live in.
“Now,” he says, a hint of command returning. “Bedroom or couch?”
“Door,” I say, defiant and laughing. “Finish what you started.”
He kisses the corner of my mouth, pleased. “Yes, ma’am.”
There’s a careful impatience to him now—one hand sliding under the hem of my hoodie to the small of my back, palm hot against skin, drawing a gasp I don’t bother to hide. The other hand anchors my jaw gently, tilting, adjusting, finding the angle that unspools a sound from me so wanton I slap my free hand over my own mouth.
He pulls it away, slow and certain. “No hiding,” he says, voice a low rasp. “I want to hear you.”
“Demanding,” I accuse, already giving him what he asked for.
“Only because you follow orders selectively,” he says, and then shows me exactly how much trouble a mouth and a door can be.
He slides my yoga pants off, and flings them across the room as he sets me down. He sinks to his knees, like he’s ready to worship at this altar.
“Arrow,” I whisper.
His dark eyes gaze up at me, and he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of my panties and I suck in a breath.
This is really happening.
“Did you ever watch me while I slept?” I whisper as he slowly drags my panties down my legs.
His eyes lock onto mine. “Honesty?”
“Always.” I’m so turned on it should be illegal.
“Yeah, Juno, I did. I watched you a few times.”
The thought of him watching me excites me and scares me. Yet, I trust this man more than my own breath. “Did you ever… you know, touch yourself while watching me?”
He swallows hard, and his silence is all-telling.
“Answer me, Arrow. Did you?”
His cheeks tinge the slightest bit of pink, and his eyes lock onto mine. “When am I not jerking off to thoughts of you?” His hot breath across my skin makes goosebumps rise in their wake. “Take off the hoodie. Now.”
I love how demanding he gets, and I do as he says, knowing I’m wearing absolutely nothing underneath it. I fling my hoodie across the room, and I stand before him completely nude, and his eyes glaze over as he stares at me.
“Wow.”
I smile, gazing down at him. “At a loss for words?”
His lips tilt into a lazy smile. “Yeah.” His strong hands grip my thighs and he spreads my legs. “You’ve been very naughty, Juno.”
“How?”
His eyes snap up to meet mine like he wasn’t expecting me to challenge him. He nearly growls and this is not the man I grew up with. No, this is something new. He’s demanding and in charge, and calling me naughty when he’s the one who spied on me. What the fuck?