Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
We take off. Water lashes us with prickles of cold needles, soaking us in seconds. She shrieks and laughs at the same time, her hand gripping mine as we sprint through the parking lot. My boots splash through puddles. She nearly slips, and I yank her closer. Her warm, slick body colliding with mine.
I fumble with the key, shoulder the door open, and pull her inside.
The slam of the door cuts off the rain, leaving only the sound of our panting breaths around us in the semi-dark hallway. She grips the banister, one foot on the first step, and glances back at me over her shoulder. Question in her eyes.
I nod, meaning go.
She doesn’t. Instead, she spins and throws her arms around my neck.
Raindrops cling to her lashes and slide down her cheeks. She’s smiling and breathless. “Even this doesn’t put us eye to eye,” she teases.
I can’t help but bend down and press my lips to hers. Quick at first, then slower, taking my time. She tastes like rain and chocolate.
“No,” I murmur against her lips. “It doesn’t.”
I shift the cake box between us. “Hold this.”
She blinks, confused, but takes it.
Then I hook an arm under her knees and lift her.
“Declan!” she squeals, laughing, one arm locked around my neck. “What are you doing?”
“Carrying you.” I start up the stairs, each step a slow drag of restraint. “You’re taking too long.”
She’s still laughing when we reach the top of the stairs, her breath hot against my neck. By the time I reach the landing I can barely see straight from wanting her so much.
I stop in front of my apartment door and gently set her on her feet. She clings to me—her hands looped behind my neck, the fingers of her free hand tugging lightly at my hair while I dig the key from my pocket. The metal slips once before I get it into the lock and turn.
We stumble across the threshold, mouths already finding each other again. Our lips collide in a kiss full of urgency and need.
“Let’s get these wet clothes off,” I murmur against her lips.
She nods, chest rising fast, eyes locked on mine.
I snag the cake box from her and set it on the entry table, barely glancing at it. She shrugs out of her coat, letting it fall in a damp heap. I catch it before it hits the floor, toss it aside, and pull her closer.
She shivers, teeth clicking softly.
“Come on,” I say, lacing my fingers through hers. “Let’s get you dried off.”
I lead her down the hall, deeper into the apartment than she’s ever been. I don’t bother with the lights. The faint glow from a night-light and the lightning’s erratic flashes illuminate the path. Emery stays close, bumping against my side and squeezing my hand tighter.
In the bathroom, clean towels line the shelves near the shower, and warm air drifts from the grate by the sink.
“Arms up.” I tug at the hem of her sweater.
She obeys without hesitation. Her skin grazes mine as I tug the sweater over her head and drop it to the floor. The thin shirt beneath clings to her, darkened by rain, outlining every curve. Her hair’s damp against her face, cheeks flushed, eyes lit with the same urgency twisting through me.
Another shiver runs through her and she pulls the shirt up herself, tossing it aside with a wed thud.
I bite down on my lower lip, taking her in. Even her bra is soaked, the fabric so dark I can’t tell its color. It molds to her, the damp satin tracing the hard peaks of her nipples.
“Your turn.” Her voice is quiet but demanding, chin tilting toward my chest.
“No, keep going.”
Laughing softly, she reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, slowly letting the straps fall down her shoulders while holding my gaze.
“All right, all right.” I quickly jerk my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor. “Better?”
“Oh, yes.” Her mouth curves, eyes tracing every inch of exposed skin with open admiration. I’m used to attention from women, but from Emery it feels different—grateful instead of greedy.
She reaches for me, then freezes mid-movement. The green shimmer around her wrist flares in the dim light, casting ghost-colored shadows on her skin.
“Declan…” Her voice is a whisper caught between fear and wonder.
I wrap my hand around her wrist. The warmth hums against my skin, a steady rhythm syncing with my heartbeat. Not burning. Just alive.
Her breathing evens out. The fear that flashed in her eyes a moment ago melts into trust. Trust I probably don’t deserve.
“It doesn’t hurt, right?” I ask.
She shakes her head, a damp curl brushing her cheek. “Feels… warm.”
“Good.” I drag my thumb along the inside of her wrist. The hum eases under my touch, the glow dims and her pulse slows until it matches mine.