Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Then he whispered, “Do you want everything?”
She had no idea what everything was. Because, somehow, what he’d done to her, what she’d felt, was everything. But still, she whispered, “Yes. I want everything.”
Leaning over, he reached for his jeans and extracted a condom. Before she could open her mouth, he said, “I swear I didn’t expect anything. But I hoped. And though I was never a Boy Scout, I’m always prepared.”
“You didn’t think I was a sure thing?” she asked softly. But she was so very glad he’d come prepared. He was an Olympian, and he thought of everything.
“Never a sure thing,” he whispered. “Just the best thing ever.”
Then she took the condom from his hand, tore it open, and handed it to him. “Put it on.” She cleared her throat when she thought she might choke. “I want to watch.”
It was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen, the way he touched himself, rolling down the condom, stroking himself to seat it properly. She wished suddenly she’d been the one to do it.
“I want you so bad, I’m shaking.” He held up a hand, and indeed, it shook.
Then she pulled him down to kiss her. He stretched out on top of her, his tongue filling her mouth as his body pushed her legs apart. She felt him right there, hard and ready. And as his kiss stole her breath yet again, she felt him ease inside.
He took her the same way he’d used his mouth on her, slowly, gently. His body stroked her on the inside, finding that sweet spot all over again, riding it, making her shake and quiver.
“How did you get to be so good?” she asked, immediately not wanting to know.
But he answered anyway. “Because I’ve been waiting for you for so long. And I wanted to make it perfect.”
He couldn’t have said anything that would make her heart soar higher.
Lifting slightly, he fit his hand between them, caressing her with the same perfect tempo of his slow stroke inside her. Sensation rose all over again with the sweetness of his touch and the hardness of his body.
Then wildfire rushed across her skin, through her limbs, down, down, down to her center, to him. And she shattered around him. As her body clamped down on him, he took her hard and fast, the way she needed him to, the way she’d dreamed of. The sensations went on and on. As if it were forever. Until she felt his muscles tightening, and he growled like the predator he was, until he throbbed hot and deep inside her. Arching up on his arms, his head back, throat stretched, his body tight to hers, he gave himself up to her.
Until finally he came down on her, gathered her into his arms, and held her tighter than anyone ever had in her entire life.
Troy wrapped her tightly in his arms. There had never been anything like the smooth feel of her skin against his. Nothing like the sweet scent of her filling his head. Nothing like the lingering taste of her in his mouth. Nothing like the tight grip of her body as she blasted him to the stars. Even now, buried inside her, he felt her still pulsing lightly around him.
She hadn’t just tilted his world off its axis. She’d rocked his entire universe.
He nuzzled her hair. “That was better than anything I’ve ever known.” He flexed inside her to make his point.
“Better than winning a gold medal?” she asked in a singsong voice.
“Better than winning three.” Hell, he didn’t mind admitting it. He wanted her to know.
She bopped him lightly on the arm. “No way. Nothing could be better than three gold medals.”
He pulled back, wanting her to see the sincerity in his face. “Better than any prize I’ve ever won.”
Her skin flushed. He’d embarrassed her or pushed too hard. But he wouldn’t take back the truth, wouldn’t diminish what he felt. “I’ve never felt that good before. Good doesn’t even begin to describe it. Superb, stupendous, spectacular.”
She batted at him again. “Stop,” she said in a choked voice, rolling her eyes.
Then he had to know. “Tell me, did you throw that last game?”
Her laughter tickled his chest as her breath brushed the curly hair. “I’ll never tell.”
But he knew. She’d lost that last game because she wanted him. He felt it in his gut.
Could he tell her he loved her now? Or would that push her too far? Love wasn’t on the table yet.
But he would make sure it was very soon.
They made it up to her bedroom, where he made love to her again, holding her in his arms afterward.
Finally, rolling away—as much as he hated to leave her—he padded to the bathroom to clean up. When he returned to the bed, she was asleep. And she wasn’t faking it to keep him at bay. They’d both had wine at dinner, polishing off the bottle of chardonnay he’d brought. Then there’d been two—no, three—rounds of cocktails while they’d played. Neither of them had been drunk, but the alcohol certainly had tired her.