Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“So don’t,” I said, wrapping him up with my arms and legs, my heels digging into his ass, driving him tighter against me.
That rumbling growl moved through Harrison as he pulled back, his gaze on mine as his hips shifted, pulled back, then surged forward.
My throaty moan rolled out from somewhere deep at the thick stretch of him sliding inside me.
A shudder racked Harrison, equally affected as he stilled inside me, his forehead pressing to mine as he drew in a shaky breath.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, hips bucking just a little deeper, dragging a throaty sound from me.
“Harrison,” I whimpered, hips rocking, heels digging into his ass, desperate for the movement, for the friction my body craved. “Please.”
A sound rolled through his chest as he slowly slid back, then paused, his intense gaze on mine.
“I want you to remember this,” he said, thrusting deep, the pleasure scorching hot, making his words immediately come true. I’d never forget.
It was pure instinct then, limitless sensation.
The stretch, the warmth, the way my heartbeat stuttered in time with my breath.
His skin was heat and friction against mine.
I could feel every inch of him. Not just inside me. But against me. In my blood. In my bones.
My body arched, bowed, shook, clung.
Harrison surged, tightened, coaxed, gave me exactly what I needed.
Heat spiraled and coiled tighter and tighter until it felt like I might snap from the pressure alone.
“I can feel you about to come apart,” he groaned in my ear, feeling me tighten around him. “It’s okay. Let go. I’ve got you.”
I came apart around him, hips jerking, toes curling, body surrendering to the rush of pleasure as it coursed through me over and over.
“Fuck,” Harrison groaned when the pulsations eased and he settled deep, body jerking as he came apart as well.
His weight pressed into me after, and I clung tightly to him, my body racked with aftershocks.
And as the heat ebbed, I felt unexpectedly vulnerable, fragile—like my skin had been peeled back along with my composure.
It was just supposed to be fun, light, easy.
Yet the closeness felt suddenly dangerous.
Not because it felt wrong.
But because it felt a little too right.
I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat and curled until Harrison had no choice but to slip off to my side.
As soon as I was free of the physical weight of him, I fled the emotional weight as well, moving to sit off the side of the bed for a second.
“Where are you going?” Harrison asked, his voice thick.
Every ounce of me wanted to turn around, to slip against him, to curl on his chest and listen to his heart fall back to a steady rhythm under my ear.
And that was exactly why I rose from the bed, fumbling for my discarded clothes in the dark.
“I need a drink,” I said, holding my clothes to my chest as I made my way into the bathroom.
Alone, I leaned against the door, my heartbeat hammering.
“What the fuck?” I whispered to myself.
My head turned, catching sight of myself in the mirror.
The same long, dark hair, the same chocolate brown eyes in a round, feminine, delicate face, the same long, somewhat willowy body.
The only thing that was unfamiliar was that round-eyed, panicked look on my face.
Because what the hell was that?
Sex was sex.
Nothing more.
And yet…
And yet.
The drink thing was just an excuse to get out of the bed. But as I yanked on my panties and dress, I knew the only thing that could soften the sharp edges of these strange emotions swirling through me would be tequila.
A lot of it.
When I exited the bathroom, Harrison was already dressed as well.
His gaze found mine.
“I’m hitting the bar. Come. Or don’t.”
With that, I grabbed my bag and rushed out of the room.
I remembered the bar.
I remembered the first sweet sip of that strawberry margarita.
I remembered Harrison there beside me.
After that, well, it got real blurry.
CHAPTER THREE
“Ugh!” I grumbled as harsh yellow morning light spilled across my face.
It may as well have peeled back my eyelids and stabbed me right in the pupils.
Tequila.
This was tequila’s doing.
A pathetic whimper escaped me as I threw my arm over my face, pressing hard against the headache that hammered through my skull like a freaking middle school marching band—all out of rhythm.
God, how many margaritas had I had?
I wasn’t a heavy drinker by any means, but I had my fun here and there. And I didn’t remember the last time I had a brain-boiling hangover.
High school, maybe.
I turned over, trying to put my back to the windows, but the light seemed to completely surround me.
That made no sense.
I hadn’t sprung for a suite, just a basic room with a view of the strip. Which meant windows only on one side.
Had I upgraded without remembering?
Was I dreaming still?
My brain wasn’t working right.