Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
She makes a frustrated sound against my lips when I hesitate, and then she shifts her weight, climbing over me in one fluid motion until she’s straddling me.
Her hair falls forward, brushing my face. The warmth of her body over mine sends a violent surge of heat through me. My hands come up instinctively to steady her at her waist.
She kisses me harder. Her body coming at mine with a hungry, desperate edge that takes every ounce of willpower I have to keep myself in check. To stay restrained. To not give in to how badly I fucking need her.
My cock is hard beneath the zipper of my jeans, and she grinds herself against me.
“Blair,” I say softly, warning threaded through her name.
She doesn’t slow. She just keeps kissing me and grinding against me, and her fingers tangle in my hair. She tastes like fucking heaven, and she feels soft beneath my hands. I want her. I need her. I love her.
She kisses me deeper, harder, and the invisible string connecting us tugs so hard I feel the pull in my spine. My body demands I take her, claim her, anchor her to me permanently.
I won’t. I can’t. Not before she lets go of the need to hate me.
She moves her hands to the hem of the shirt she’s wearing—my shirt—and she starts to lift it.
Fuck. I have to stop this.
That’s when I move. I roll us carefully, flipping her onto her back in one smooth motion. Not rough or dominant but controlled.
Her hair fans across the pillow, her lips part, and her eyes are still that distant, dream-hazed blue.
I lower my mouth to hers again, but slower now. I kiss her like something fragile, taking the tension from hunger and desperation to soft and gentle.
I slide my hand into her hair, smoothing it back from her face. I trail my fingers down her arm, over her wrist, and back up again. I move slow and steady and in a rhythm that relaxes her.
Her breathing shifts, and she sighs softly against my mouth.
I kiss her cheek. Her jaw. The corner of her lips. And with each soft press of my mouth, the tight grip her hands have on my shirt begins to loosen.
Her body melts into the mattress beneath me. The tension drains from her limbs. A few more kisses and her lashes lower until her eyes are closed.
And a few more kisses after that and her body fully relaxes until she’s asleep again.
I stay there a moment longer, hovering over her, until I roll onto my back beside her.
The ceiling beams blur slightly as I stare up at them. My cock is still hard, and every inch of my body aches with want.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
She trusts me in her sleep. She reaches for me when she isn’t thinking. But when she wakes, she’ll remember who she thinks she’s supposed to be.
I turn my head and look at her again, studying every facet of her being. Her dark hair, her long lashes, and the curve of her soft jaw. Her body is still curled toward mine, and she looks so beautifully peaceful.
I want to be the man who gets to make her look like that forever—and I will, eventually. She’s mine. I know that with every ounce of my body.
But war is also coming. The elites are undoubtedly working to track us down, and happily ever after may have a time limit.
I need to make her mine on a cellular level that no one could ever refute, give us a slight advantage, but I can’t rush just to beat the clock.
I can’t force the bond to make myself stronger, and I can’t force Blair to trust me.
I’ll have to take this war as it comes. Even if it kills me.
Blair
I wake up with my heart racing.
I sit up too fast, scanning the room like something might have changed overnight, but nothing has. I’m still in this stupid fucking ugly cabin because I’ve been kidnapped by some blue-collar repo man vampire.
Ugh. This is such bullshit.
The side of the bed beside me is empty and cold. Kane, my kidnapper, is nowhere in sight.
I swing my legs over the edge and cross the room in quick strides, grabbing the door handle.
Locked.
I turn slowly toward the bed, and my eyes rake over the rumpled sheets on both sides of the mattress. My stomach twists into a knot with uninvited warmth and memories.
Was he in here?
I step toward the pillow on his side of the bed, and before I can stop myself, I press my face into it. Instantly, I’m hit with the scent of him—inviting, masculine, distinct—it’s an aroma that, for some strange reason, I know as though it’s my own.
He was in here, while I was sleeping. I remember sharply, as though I wasn’t asleep at all.