Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I kissed him back. A familiar, effortless action that needed no thought. Yes, I hadn’t breathed straight in three years. Hadn’t had a full inhale or a full exhale.
Washington gently tugged me toward him, the taste of his lips on mine as he unsnapped my seatbelt.
One kiss turned into another as he tugged me up to my feet, gripping my behind, bringing me flush against him. Then three more. Each one messier, hotter, and more delirious than the last as we stood within the open passenger door. Washington paused, and hell, I was confident he hadn’t inhaled like this since we last loved each other. His eyes were on me, soft and assessing, his fingers sunk in my hair. Did he worry I might vanish?
He leaned in closer, deepening the kiss, one arm around my waist, the other reaching past me to close the passenger door.
Wanting this, I strutted forward. This man belonged to me. Always had. I was gonna have him. Right now. One step away, I tripped over a paver.
“Damn, girl, I got you.” Washington stopped short of closing the door and caught me.
He wrapped me in his arms, and a breathless laugh escaped me. Still, the sensation of his lips on mine and the sudden pull in my chest tangled me up. Elijah.
Our son had tripped over this exact paver right before our last vacation.
I stared at my ex-husband as he offered a slow, devastating smile, a smile that once used to steal the air from my lungs. That damn smile always crushed me. Crushed my entire day until I had a taste of him. Yesss. I needed a taste of … him.
But I panicked. My body pulled from his arms, and my fingers flew toward the passenger door handle as if it were the eject button on temptation. Half logic. Half crazy. The door stood wide open. Beckoning me. Dang. The inside of that car was steamier than a sinner’s confessional. Before I could act, Washington’s mouth was on mine, his hands anchoring my hips. Yet, I clung to that door, wanting to get back into that car because of that house.
Walking into our house? Hell, even being carried inside was emotional arson.
I couldn’t do it.
washington
. . .
Although the divorce was only a year ago, three years had slipped by since Madison last tasted like heaven on my lips. Now I starved for oxygen and Madison all at once as I pulled her out of the passenger seat and into my arms.
She laughed, breathy, messy, and the kinda sound that undid me. I swear it echoed through my ribs.
I deepened the kiss, slow and confident, letting her taste bloom warm on my tongue while every bottled-up hour I missed her spilled into a moan. My fingers tangled in the soft strands of her hair, needing proof she was real. Here. Mine again.
My hands, fresh out of lockdown and not giving a damn about parole, roamed shamelessly, touching everywhere they could. Soaking her in. They skimmed underneath her shirt, traced the warm curve of her breast, then found home at her hips.
She started forward. I almost had the door shut when she tripped over a paver.
“Damn, girl, I got you.” I trapped her in my arms to stop her from falling. As she laughed, I kissed her again. Much gentler than at the rage room. Soft, like maybe we were two grown folks who’d finally stopped being stupid. Her little hum against my tongue, Lord help me, made me remember why I’d married her in the first place. Madison’s hands slid up my chest, and my tongue brushed hers with the same hesitance that turned into fire. Craving her surrender, I deepened everything about me, savoring her and feeling her warmth against mine.
When my hand bumped into hers against the door handle, I thought she was closing the passenger door, but she didn’t let go. Woman had us playing bumper cars with our fingers.
“Maddy,” I murmured against her lips, my voice thick with the taste of her. “What are you doing, bébé?”
Apparently, we were kissing and wrestling the damn car door. All that aggression had worked in the rage room. But here, right outside our house? Nah. That was a Tyler Perry movie for my woman and her friends.
My dumb ass smiled and chuckled in confusion. “Maddy, let go.”
She pressed her lips to mine, and a low, guttural groan escaped her. “I … I’m trying.”
“What do you mean, bébé?”
She pushed herself against me, feeling all I had for her, and yet she hadn’t let go of that door. Before she kissed me again, her eyes flicked toward …
The house. Damn.
Her fingers were clinging to the handle as if it held her together. Mine wrapped around her waist as if I might throw her over my shoulder and try to hypnotize her with good loving.