Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
This wasn’t me. Up until three years ago, admiring the face of a woman in ecstasy wasn’t something that interested me. Now I’m an addict.
My addiction is so incurable that before Azra can get close to relaxing, I flip her over, fist her hair, then enter her from behind.
I drive her through climax-ville over and over again until she collapses from exhaustion and takes me down with her.
Cum slicks her thighs, and the room reeks of sex, but her smile is one for the memory books. Her expression is effortless and content, and it makes me feel like the luckiest prick in the world.
As I free a strand of hair from her sticky forehead, I drink in all her perfect features. Her hair is a dark halo across the pillow, and her face is soft in a way she only lets me see. I trace the line of her jaw with my index finger, memorizing her all over again.
I could do this every day for the rest of my life and never grow tired.
When I brush my lips against her collarbone, she murmurs something. Her voice is too soft and sleepy to decipher exactly what she says, but it’s something along the lines of wondering if she’s dreaming.
Suddenly, her eyes pop open, and they glare at me with murderous intent.
“What?” I murmur, my innocent act impossible to pull off. “You were wondering if you were dreaming, so I thought a pinch was the quickest way to prove you weren’t.”
“You couldn’t just tell me I’m not dreaming?”
“I could have.” I smirk. “But where’s the fun in that? If you’re not threatening to kill me, la mia tigrotta, I’m not doing this whole husband thing right.” I capture her lip between my teeth and give it a playful tug. “Also… sparring with you is my favorite kind of foreplay.”
She smiles, slow and warm, and I swear my chest aches with how much I love her. I could stay like this forever. But Azra glances toward the window, and her eyes widen.
“What time is it?”
I shrug. “Fucked if I know.” I waggle my brows. “Time for a second helping of breakfast?”
She sits up abruptly, then grabs her phone to check the time. “We’re late!”
I hook her ankle and tug her back down the bed. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Matteo—”
“Revenge waits,” I say, kissing the inside of her ankle. “Love waits.” This time, I kiss behind her knee. “Support waits.” Now her thigh. “Everything waits for you, Azra. It always has.” My voice drops, rough with memory. “Just like it did three years ago, when you needed time to find yourself again.”
Her expression softens instantly, and I think I have her. Then she kicks me in the shoulder firm enough to push me off the bed.
While peering down at me with twisted, fuckable lips, she murmurs, “As sweet as that is, I’m unwilling to pay double this year for being late. I have better things to spend our money on.” You have no fucking clue how hard I get when she uses references like “our.” She’s as wealthy as I am, but she knows what is mine is hers, and what is hers is also hers. “Like my own motorcycle, so we can ride together.”
“Absolutely not.” She stops throwing on the slip I peeled off her last night as we stumbled into our room. “If you think I’m giving up the opportunity to have your body rubbing against me, you don’t know a damn thing about me, sweetheart.”
She rolls her eyes, faking that she hates my arrogance.
She’s a shit liar.
“Fine,” she eventually submits. “Then how about I remind you that the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can return to the honeymoon phase we’ve barely tiptoed out of in the past three years.”
That does it.
I’m on my feet in an instant, dressed even faster than that, then dragging her out the door.
Shoes forgotten, and our ceremony clothes half buttoned, I drag her out into the morning light. Our room opens directly onto the sand of a private cove we return to every year on the anniversary of the day we first saw each other. It is quiet, untouched, and completely ours when we don’t invite others to be a part of the celebration.
The ocean breeze blasts us with cool, salty air, and Azra’s laughter rings out across the beach. It has seriously become my favorite sound in the world.
We run, hand in hand, across the sand, and every giggle when we almost stumble makes me fall in love with her all over again.
Under an arch of white flowers, the celebrant waits. She’s accustomed to our chaos by now. The space is set up for a small, intimate ceremony for two. We invited our families the first year we renewed our vows, but now, with our nieces and nephews multiplying like wildfire, it’s harder to gather everyone in one space.