Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“I’m not scared,” I whisper. “It was just… a lot.”
“I know, Em.” His mouth finds my collarbone. “Just breathe, baby. I’m not rushing this.”
Every touch is slow. Intentional. He kisses my neck, my chest, my stomach, my breasts, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You’re mine now,” he whispers. “Mine, Emma.”
He takes his time undressing, removing his clothes like a ritual—watching me watching him. His cock’s already hard and thick, but he waits.
“Say it,” he demands. “Say you want this.”
“I want this,” I whisper. “I want you. Please, Owen.”
Then he lowers himself onto me. His hard cock finds my wet heat, and he presses in, slowly stretching me until he’s all the way in. I can’t think or speak beyond the need to be filled by him.
Oh god.
His hand curves around the back of my neck, holding me still while his hips start to move—deep, slow strokes that make my breath stutter and my thighs tremble. Tonight, he isn’t taking and dominating. No, tonight, he’s showing me what it means to belong to someone. To be cherished.
He kisses me through every moan. Whispers against my skin. “I’ve wanted this for so long…”
A thrust.
“I used to dream about it.”
Another.
“Thought I’d never have you for my own.”
He thrusts again. I moan and move with him. I clutch his back. “You have me now.”
His pace falters for half a second, then he moves again, harder now but still controlled. I’m unraveling, my breath coming faster. I need him… I want him.
When I fall apart, it’s a cry and a gasp and a full-body tremble as my pussy clenches around him, my fingers digging into his skin, tears spilling from the corners of my eyes from a well of emotion too deep for words. He groans and buries his face in my neck as he follows me over, every muscle in his body locked tight.
“Emma,” he whispers. “I love you.”
“And I love you,” I whisper back as our bodies slow, skin to skin. After, he holds me until it’s fully dark outside, and we’re cast in midnight blue in the cabin’s interior.
“Come home with me, Emma.” He grins, cocky and sweet. “You’re all I want for Christmas.”
Rolling over, he reaches into the little bedside table.
“That and… this.” He hands me the last coupon.
“Did I clear out that writer’s block, baby?”
I nod. “You could say that.”
He kisses my cheek. “Good. Then write our story, Emma.”
EPILOGUE
Emma
I sit in the biggest stuffed armchair known to man. I didn’t know they made giant-sized furniture, but here we are. I’m completely engulfed in an Owen-sized chair that could easily host the Jolly Green Giant, totally immersed in his scent, and I’ve never been so ready to write a book in my entire life.
“You know, Owen,” I say, as he walks into his kitchen, putting the kettle on for a cup of tea. We’ve just come back from Ireland, and I feel like I could write a series of books. I loved seeing him in his homeland, with his friends, and even though he kept me distanced from whatever business he tended to, I still felt a sense of belonging and newness I didn’t know I’d been craving.
“What is it, lass?” he asks, pouring hot tea over the tea bag.
“Do you even know what I write about?”
“Romance or some such,” he says, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know much about it.”
“I write about antiheroes. Like, dark romance bad boys. They do some kind of crazy things.”
He smiles at me. “Do you, now?”
“Mmm, and I have to say, I think I know exactly where my inspiration comes from.”
He stands in the doorway. Big. Solid. Sexy as fuck. His arms are crossed over his chest, biceps thick beneath the sleeve of his thermal. The fabric strains around them. I stare at him—veins like rope, skin bronzed, the kind of arms that I know from personal experience are built to lift, to pin, to hold.
The kind of arms I’ve dreamt about when I was aching and alone.
“Where’s that?”
I smirk at him and turn back to my laptop, shrugging.
“A certain guy I’ve had a crush on forever. And I’ve been thinking… I know why I write these books. I know why I crave them.”
“Do you?”