Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
It’s always good.
Great.
Fuck. It’s so great.
We just vibe, and I want to devour him at every moment. There is this wild, empowering feeling I get when I think about the fact that he’s never felt another pussy but mine. No one has had his cock in them like I have, and it drives me to the edge every time. I have never felt safe to explore butt fun, but with him, I crave it. The first time he was behind me and spread my cheeks apart while groaning my name, I was begging him to play with my asshole. Then when his mouth gets going, telling me to come and how gorgeous I am to him? Yeah, he drives me insane with lust, and I want him at every turn. Not just in bed, though. I want him everywhere.
With me.
While my pussy may be weeping at the sight of all that gorgeous man making the bed that we made a mess in, it’s my heart that is beating double time for him.
Because, like I knew he would, he made me fall fucking hard for him.
Like, face first hard.
Like, no coming back hard.
Like, I can’t think of my future without his damn dimples in it hard.
Damn it.
I just knew this would happen. I knew from the moment I saw those dimples that I was fucked. I should have pushed him away harder; I should have ignored him completely, because if he breaks my heart, I’m ruined. No man will compare. No man will live up to the standard he has set for me. No man will make me feel the way he does.
Because there is no man like Dawson Sinclair.
And I will never love anyone the way I love him.
I thought I knew what love was.
Like, I really did. I thought love was comfort. Familiar. Predictable.
Something steady you could lean into without thinking twice.
I thought love was the quiet, everyday sort of thing—like knowing someone’s favorite coffee order or the way they rearrange blankets when they sleep. I thought it was feeding them until they burst. Laughing when they’re on the toilet because of too many tostones.
But apparently, love isn’t always gentle or safe or logical. Apparently, love can sucker-punch you right in the gut and wipe out everything you thought you understood about your heart. I never thought I’d be scared of a phone call, but every time his uncle Jude calls, I worry this will be it. He’ll leave, and what if I can’t go with him?
Suddenly, love isn’t soft. It’s fucking loud. It’s messy. It’s inconvenient. It’s someone waltzing into your life like they own oxygen, and instantly, you’re breathing different. It’s arguing because you care, walking away, only to want them closer, telling yourself “no” while your entire soul screams “yes.”
I thought I knew love.
Turns out what I knew was comfort dressed as emotion.
This…whatever this is—the ache, the chaos, the stupid butterflies I pretend aren’t there—this is something else entirely.
Something only Dawson has created, and honestly, it scares the hell out of me.
But even feeling all those feelings, and knowing this could end at any moment, I have fallen so hard for him, I know there is no choice but to love him.
My heart seizes in my chest when he looks up from his side of the bed, his dimple showing in his left cheek as he drinks me in. He always does that, looks at me like he can’t get enough, and I live for it. “That was fast. You didn’t wash your hair?”
My heart sings in my chest. The guy knows my hair-washing schedule, and he even helps me with it. Guys before would laugh if I asked them to brush my hair since my arm gets tired, but Dawson was all about it. I mean, come on, how could I not fall for him for that right there?
And he brings me snacks while I’m waiting for the conditioner to set.
“I’ll do it tonight,” I say with a wave. “You didn’t have to make the bed by yourself.”
He comes over to me, gathering me in his arms, and my hands come to rest on his chest. He feels so solid, so good, so mine. I’m obsessed with him. “I’ll help tonight.”
“Don’t you have to study for that exam tomorrow?
“I can do that too,” he says, kissing my temple. “Listen, I need to go by my place. I need to grab some stuff, and Louis wants to have dinner.”
We’ve been so busy this week with school, workouts, and recording. I was looking forward to a night in, but I didn’t realize he had made plans with his brother. I shouldn’t be upset. He hasn’t hung with Louis by himself in weeks. All his time has been mine, so I’m sure Louis is getting pissy, given how much he texts Dawson. But still, I’m a tiny bit butthurt. More disappointed than I should be, I mutter, “Oh.”