Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
My gaze went to the man waiting for me by the doorway, who had one hand wrapped around the neck of his beer and the other on his hip, just above the gun holstered there. The sight of him was magnetic, pulling me one foot in front of the other until I reached him.
His attention flicked to his brother for a moment, and his tone was genuine, serious. “Thank you.”
Then he placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me toward the primary bedroom.
It was ridiculous to be nervous. We’d had sex, not once but twice before.
Despite that, my breath turned shallow when he shut the door, turned off the light, and strolled to what had become his side of the bed, setting the beer and his gun on the nightstand.
“Do you want me to start a fire?” he asked.
I stood across from him, the bed between us. “I’m okay.”
His eyes looked black in the low light. “L, you’re shaking.”
I hadn’t noticed. I looked down at my body in disbelief, and, when I discovered it was true, couldn’t contain the words any longer.
“I think I might love you.” My stomach felt like it was upside-down. “I’m sorry.”
Jason flinched like I’d shot him. “What?” But he’d clearly heard me.
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t know what to do, where to look, or how to respond.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again.
“Will you stop saying that?”
“I’m—” I spun away from him and put a hand over my mouth to stop anything else from coming out. I listened for the bedroom door to slam shut behind him. For him to groan and tell me it was too soon. That this was only sex for him and nothing more, even when I knew in my heart it wasn’t.
The room was deathly quiet.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
His face was unreadable, and the hurt in my chest built to a point where everything hurt.
“Just forget I said anything,” I pleaded.
“Not likely.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, unprepared for this stoic version of Jason. His gaze was shockingly intense. I should have been relieved that my words hadn’t made him flee, but somehow this lack of reaction?
It was worse.
I had no idea what he was thinking or going to do.
“Please,” I begged.
“I want to know why you’re sorry.” It came from him confused and not accusatory.
“What?”
He paused, waiting for me to answer, and when I didn’t, his tone went soft. “Pretty sure you heard me.”
“Because it's too soon,” I admitted. “Because I know you don’t want to hear me say I might love you.”
He didn’t flinch this time. “Why wouldn’t I want to hear that?”
“Please, forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Each passing second standing in the dark with his gaze burning into me was more maddening, and I was desperate for the suffering to end. “I made a mistake.”
He was a blur. I had never seen someone move so fast.
Jason didn’t go around the bed, but instead took the shortest route possible, climbing over the mattress to reach me. I gasped with surprise as he yanked me roughly into his arms.
“No,” he growled. “Stop telling me about mistakes. It wasn’t a mistake.”
His kiss that was so powerful, it knocked the wind out of me. My body seized control from my mind, and I flung my arms around him, giving him everything I had while blinking back the hot tears stinging my eyes.
His kiss wasn’t about lust or desire. It was filled with something else. The promise of more, and I sighed into it.
Maybe he couldn’t express it in words, but his feelings for me were undeniable. He cared about me a great deal. Perhaps as much as I did for him.
The heat in the kiss grew until it was white-hot and consuming.
He preferred to take the lead, but tonight I wanted to be in charge. I trailed my right hand down his chest, his stomach, not stopping until I reached the fly of his jeans. I cupped him where he was half hard and growing harder beneath my touch.
His response was to groan with pleasure and ease a hand under my shirt, skimming up to my bra.
I pressed my body into his, wordlessly asking him to move backward, and he complied. We shuffled a few steps over the carpet until his back thudded against the wall and he issued a quiet grunt of pain.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
But I was determined to make it up to him. I used both hands to hurriedly undo his pants and shoved them inside, finding his skin warm when I curled my fingers around him. He was hard as steel and yet soft as velvet under my grip, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest signaled just how much he liked the way I stroked him.
“This,” I said in a breathless voice, “what I’m doing to you now? This is your fault.”