Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Everything inside me goes molten. I reach for him instinctively, palms sliding over the solid muscles of his ass, pulling him closer.
He sinks into me, entering slowly, deeper with each breath, until there’s no space left between us. Just heat and fullness and the weight of his body fitting perfectly against mine.
“I dreamed this.” He steals my mouth, kissing me with a consuming desperation that leaves me dizzy and clutching at him. “But it’s not a dream.”
“It’s real.”
“It’s fucking real.” He draws back and surges in again, setting a slow, powerful rhythm. “I didn’t dream you. You’re real.”
“I’m real.” I open my legs wider and pull him in deeper.
He fucks into me, groaning into our kiss, and finishing as quickly as he started. I’m not awake enough to come with him, but as we separate, he repositions us, pulls my back to his chest, and pushes into me from behind.
This time, he doesn’t thrust. With my backside flush against his pelvis and his arm curled around my waist, he falls asleep inside me.
Another first.
I’ve never done the post-coital cuddling thing, let alone fallen asleep with a man inside me. I never knew it could be like this.
Safe. Held. Claimed. This is what love feels like.
My eyes drift shut, and I’m out within seconds.
When I wake again, the room is dark and quiet except for the soft rush of the ocean outside. The balcony curtains billow, letting a stray draft brush my bare legs.
Wolf’s no longer pressed against my back.
Beside me, he sprawls face down, cheek smashed into the pillow, the sheets tangled low around his hips, exposing the long lines of his back and cords of muscle down his sides.
My eyes adjust slowly, shapes sharpening in the blue-gray glow, as my senses come online.
That’s when I feel it, something hard and round tucked into the center of my curled hand.
I blink, confused, and open my palm.
A rock. Small and smooth like so many of the stones scattering the shoreline.
I squint, rolling it with my thumb, turning it over.
There’s writing on it. Black sharpie. A single word.
My heart pounds as I tilt it toward the weak light. It takes a second, but the letters resolve.
Come
My eyes snap fully open, and adrenaline pours through me so fast I sit up on instinct, twisting toward the balcony door.
It stands open, just like I left it, the curtains swaying lazily in the warm breeze.
Nothing looks disturbed.
Heart racing, I scan the room, the corners, the shadows, the closet door cracked an inch.
Nothing.
No Jag.
No movement except the slow rise and fall of Wolf’s back as he breathes, dead asleep.
If Jag is here… If Jag came into this room while we slept…
A cold, violent protectiveness locks around my ribs, and I roll toward Wolf, setting two fingers on his neck, feeling the deep, steady rhythm of his pulse.
Alive. Safe. Unaware.
If Jag came with the intent to kill, Wolf would already be dead.
I slide out of the bed, feet hitting the floor as quietly as I can manage, the rock still clutched in my hand. Then something catches my eye. A small shape on the floor, a few feet from the bed.
Another rock.
Creeping toward it, I snatch it up and spot a third one in the doorway leading to the hall.
My skin goes cold.
Jag doesn’t leave trails.
How did he sneak onto the island undetected?
If he went through all this trouble to see me in the middle of the night…
Something’s wrong.
I look back at Wolf. Still asleep.
The thought of Jag getting anywhere near him ignites a bloodthirsty dread inside me. If I wake him, it could lead to a fight. Last time they fought, weapons were drawn, and bones were crushed.
Last time they were together, Wolf had a breakdown.
No, I won’t wake him. Not yet.
After a quick sweep of the closet and bathroom, I slip into the hall, locking the bedroom door behind me without a sound.
The rocks bite into my palm as I follow the next dark shape on the floor, then the next, collecting them, one by one, down the stairs.
On the ground floor, I pause.
Silence. Nothing stirs in the shadows. No creak of floorboards. No phantom shift of air.
Where is he?
The faint trail of rocks snakes through the living room, catching the moonlight in small, cold glints. I follow it, palms clammy, and set the pile on the armchair.
The last rock sits at the front door.
My stomach drops. No way in hell am I stepping outside without Wolf.
As I turn back, a hand slams over my mouth.
I throw an elbow, a hip, and my nails come out, clawing and fighting with all my strength, but the grip is iron. My breath strangles beneath the hand as a muscled arm locks around my waist and wrenches me around.
My back hits the door, and a rigid body pins me in place. A body I recognize before I see the eyes.