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)
Madison groaned, rushing through the sliding door. Outside, she hurried over the path, tripping over a folded stroller on the ground as a man wrestled luggage from an SUV.
I yanked her closer to me. “Bébé, what is it?”
“My car. It’s … it’s not here.”
I shrugged. “The tow company can keep your Dawoochie. Consider it a mercy mission.”
“Washington!” she gasped. “Stop, I can’t afford that fee.”
“Okay, take the Bentley. The mechanic handed it over a long time ago.”
“Really? Why are you still riding the Range Rover?”
“Out of respect to your … hatred, I guess. The Rover was a lease, not a rental. Are you passing on your dream car?”
“Not my dream anymore. I’m humble. I want my Daewoochie! Ugh.” She tilted her head. “That sounded awkward.”
Woman had the nerve to look serious.
“Maddy, I’m not paying more than the car’s worth to have it released from the impound. Maybe it ascended.” I held her in my arms. “God saw the struggle and said, Come home, Daewon’t-Start. You’ve fought the good fight.”
“Excuse me?” Madison pressed her chest away from me. “My car started. Mostly.”
“Bet the only thing that always functions is the horn.”
Those plush lips remained sealed.
“Madison? That’s a safety risk.”
“Maybe.” Her lips met mine, soft, passionate, and lingering. “But kissing you is a risk to our contract. You think we can make out all night long even if my birthday is over?” She chewed her bottom lip. “And I mean it, Washington. We’ll just make out?”
Just? Nope. But would I say that?
madison
. . .
Iwasn’t sure why I picked this place. We hadn’t slept under the stars since San Jose. We’d gotten kicked out of our apartment because the landlord needed to move in a family member. Boy, did he learn that despite renting to struggling college students, Wash was not gonna let that slide.
We’d snuck into a very closed Audubon Park. The wind rustled the trees, and Spanish moss, hanging low like curtains, veiled us from the city. But damn, this was more romantic than the hotel Washington suggested. Opportunistic ass.
I teased Washington. “So, you have a whole-ass duffel bag?” Mr. Sports Mom. Yeah. I kept that nickname to myself. It wasn’t clowning. That name could snatch the entire self-esteem of any grown man.
Washington, as if reading my mind, rolled his eyes. “Okay, then I’ll take the blankets back. See how cold you get tonight.”
“Nope.” I took the duffle from him and rummaged through it. It even had a foil blanket. This boy played no games.
“Yep. I knew you’d fold. People get stuck in their cars during storms, Madison. You know that.”
“Mm-hmm.” I smiled, stretching out yet another knit blanket. In a minute, we’d prepared enough padding to rival my thin guest room-grade mattress at Lynn’s.
Washington lay with his hands behind his back. I straddled him, savoring the feeling of his laugh as it vibrated against my chest. He reached up to clasp the back of my neck. The other hand slid along my thigh. “You tugged out all these blankets, Madison, but I bet you plan to stay here all night. On top of me?”
“Pretty much.” I reached down to kiss his mouth. One faint touch of my lips to his. A brush. Teasing. A test to confirm he wouldn’t fight for more than what I offered.
“With this position, Washington Babineaux, I’ll have you know, I’ve got ultimate power.” My thighs squeezed around his muscular waist. “And control. And will ensure all of you stays warm and comfortable … in your pants.”
“Could be warm and—”
I shut him up with a kiss that spiraled into a forest fire. And that was it. No talking. No therapist-approved affirmations. Or therapist denials. Our mouths met, a desperate hunger driving the kiss. My tongue danced over his lips, and his tongue complemented every move, catching a rhythm. I recalled the passionate lessons he taught me when we first met, yet I cherished his wisdom in allowing me to take the lead when I desired. And I needed this.
His heart pounded against my chest, heavy and steady, syncing me to something real. Anchoring me to the man I swore I’d love my entire life.
He groaned when I tugged his lower lip between my teeth. Because, baby, this game of torture I initiated caused us both pain. And that sound alone? His groan, a low rumble, vibrated through my breast and made a sistah’s whole body hum. Our kisses deepened, hungrier, hotter.
“Remember when,” I said, mouth falling into his beard, dragging over it. The rough, yet soft feel of his beard and the scent of his cocoa butter beard oil grounded me into something real, since something was getting real between my thighs, where his body speared mine.
“Nah, I can’t remember nothing,” he murmured, turning his mouth to catch mine again.
“Wash, we used to—”
Each time I spoke, his ravenous lips captured my mouth again. His claim was urgent and steamy. I grabbed his hands and pulled them above his head, as if that gave me more control. “Mmm, Wash. We used to kiss like this. Remember when we used to dry hump before I turned eighteen?”