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)
Her breath hitches and she sways forward. I slide my hand to her back and pull her against me.
She rests her hands on my chest. I brace myself in case she tries to push me away, but she grips the front of my shirt like she’s holding me in place, afraid I’ll disappear.
“Declan,” she breathes.
I dip down and rest my forehead against hers. “I missed you.”
Her fingers tighten in my shirt, and she peers up at me. “I missed you too. A lot.”
I press my lips to hers slowly, giving her time to change her mind. Her mouth softens under mine, tentative at first. Spicy cinnamon touches my tongue, a taste I’ll forever associate with Emery.
She lets out a surprised, needy little sound, and all the regret that’s been coiled tight in my chest since I found out she left finally unravels.
I slide my hand up her back, skating over the curve of her spine, the warmth of her skin through her thin sweater. She shivers, and this time it has nothing to do with the cold.
“Come here,” I murmur against her mouth.
She presses her body tight against mine and slides her arms around my neck.
“That’s my girl.” I smile against her cheek. “Where’s your bedroom?”
She keeps kissing me, like now that she started, she can’t stop.
I guide her backward, one step at a time, until her back’s against the wall. More needy little noises hum through her. She pauses and pulls back. “Wren really is right upstairs.” She points at the ceiling. “And it’s very much not soundproof.”
I widen my eyes, pretending to be scandalized. “You’re the screamer, not me.”
Pink spreads over her cheeks but one corner of her mouth slides up. “Technically, that’s your fault.”
Rumbling with laughter, I slip my hands under her butt and pick her up. “Bedroom now. Please.”
Laughing, she hooks one arm around my neck and points down the hallway. “Last door on the right.”
“Good.” I dip my head and playfully bite at her sweater. “Start shedding clothes.”
She wriggles in my arms and manages to get one sleeve off, revealing smooth skin and the edge of a purple bra. I push my way into her room, purple glows from LED strips neatly fastened along the room’s borders. I set her down gently, careful not to break the moment.
She finishes tugging her sweater off, her hair falling around and down her shoulders in a static-y storm. Her chest rises and falls in a choppy rhythm while she keeps her gaze trained on my face, like she’s waiting for me to make the next move.
I arch an eyebrow. “Keep going.”
“Your turn.”
I strip off my shirt and bask in the way her lips part. Her gaze traces the lines of my chest, where the curse’s ink used to crawl, now a blank canvas.
“Wow,” she breathes. “It’s really all gone.”
“Did you like me better with the ink?”
“I’d be hot for you with or without it,” she says softly.
I drop my gaze to her chest, and the corner of my mouth lifts. “Your bra matches the lighting.” The sheer purple lace also gives an enticing view of her perfect hard nipples straining against the fabric. I swallow hard, trying not to drool on myself.
She drags her hands to the clasp in the center of her chest, playing with it until I’m ready to lose my damn mind. “I was in a purple mood today.”
I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but I do know one thing. “It looks good on you.”
Obviously enjoying the torturous hold she has on my attention, she slides her hands to the waistband of her jeans, pops the button, and slowly peels them down her legs, revealing matching panties. She straightens and toes the jeans sideways.
Dragging my starving gaze from her legs to her waist, to her breasts, I linger on her nipples and rub my hand over my jaw. “How are you even more stunning than I remember?”
“Trick of the lighting?” She lifts one shoulder in a careless shrug.
“No trick.” I strip off my pants and advance on her.
Still facing me, she eases onto the mattress. I kneel between her legs and hook my fingers in her waistband. “These are pretty, but they need to go.” I drag her underwear down her legs, then crawl over her body, caging her underneath me.
I kiss along her neck, tasting salt and inhaling the light floral scent of her hair. She curls her fingers around my forearms, arching under me.
“Declan,” she whispers. “I want you so much.”
An excited rush of relief washes over me. Our attraction wasn’t created by the curse. It’s real. “You’ll have me,” I promise. “All of me. But let me take my time.”
She whines a frustrated noise and twists underneath me, her soft skin rubbing against mine in crucial places. Hanging onto control by a thread, I trail lower, kissing along her collarbone, peppering more kisses on her chest, between her breasts. I graze my teeth over one nipple, capturing the thin lace and tugging.