Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Straddling him, I lift myself. His hand rubs along my outer thigh before slipping between us to position himself at my entrance. I’m slow like he advised, engulfing the tip before taking a breath and sliding all the way down. I press my hands to his chest, concentrating on my breathing to get me through the initial burn and stretch.
I close my eyes and take another deep breath, and when I exhale, I whisper, “I need you to move, Warner.”
With his hand staking claim to my hip again, his body gyrates underneath mine and then pulls out just a bit to have me on the verge of begging before pushing back in. “Oh my God, you feel so good,” comes off my tongue in a hurried exhale. Using my hands on his chest as support, I finally lift and meet his next thrust, and each time it becomes easier, and no burn remains, only the incredible desire for more, more, more.
“I need you,” he says, his hand coming to caress my cheek before sliding to the side of my neck while still fucking me.
I won’t stop. I can’t. My hunger for more, for the bliss, and the push, the thrust, and the climax mingle together, the sensations becoming too much to hold on for long. “God, I need you, too.” I do. I find myself stretching my back, embracing his length and taking him whole, owning his gaze, and aiming for his heart. Leaning back, I let my breasts bounce as I release my hair from the knot on my head, allowing it to tumble down.
He makes me feel amazing, so beautiful that the lies we’ve told don’t mean anything in the long run. Living in the here and now is all that matters. I lift and fall, take and squeeze, embrace him, and then fuck him until he starts to fall apart. I feel the effort in his body to fight the surge that will overwhelm him soon. I can see the struggle in his eyes to hold on. I rest my hands on his chest again, fixing my eyes on him and take him thrust for thrust, fuck for fuck, and giving it right back. His arm swoops around me and brings me to the mattress. With our bodies still attached, he angles his weight over me and drives into me with the full intention of pushing me to fall with him. His eyes set on mine, every thrust is punctuated with possession—his arm around me, his lips on my neck, his cock staking claim to every inch of me. “Fuck, I love you.” The words come out breathless as he drives into me, seeking his relief and dragging me under with him.
And then I’m falling with him . . .
Unraveling.
Spiraling toward that sensual perfection.
My body tremors for seconds, minutes, even a lifetime as I let the pleasure consume me. I return to this world, into his arms, and collapse on his chest with no energy remaining and no will to move. But when the fog of pleasure lifts, it’s the confession that consumes the aftermath.
Being with him has changed me more than I could have understood when creating this mess. This wasn’t cat and mouse, me setting a trap for him to fall into. This was us playing house. Lying here, listening to his heart beat strong in his chest out of pure indulgence, I realize I love being his wife.
I thought I was in trouble before. Oh God, what have I done? I might be too far gone to save myself.
CHAPTER 21
Warner
Bayetti.
Delaney’s kept me so busy that the only break I’ve had, I tried to fit some work in. I didn’t get far on that either. But I should have done some research. Despite my phone being another limb of mine, I haven’t been missing it as much as I thought. It’s probably the woman keeping me preoccupied all the time.
Delaney Bayetti.
It’s a pretty name. I was growing partial to Landers, though. Which means I need to get my head examined as soon as possible. Side effect of the concussion? Side effect of starting to fall for this woman, I’m afraid.
As we travel the last block before arriving, I realize I’m going in blind. An error in judgment on my part. I’m not nervous, but I don’t understand how she plans to pull this off. Has she already involved her family? She mentioned brothers . . . “Who’s coming to dinner tonight?”
“The usual.”
Not the answer I wanted. But I must give it to her, even after sex, she’s still not cracking under pressure. So when we approach the restaurant on the corner, I hold her sweaty little hand a bit tighter. Because whatever happens in Bayetti’s, we’re in this together.
She stops before we cross the street in spite of the sign flashing to proceed. Turning to me, she runs her hands down the front of my shirt. The gesture is sweet when she stops and lifts to kiss me, but I look down to see if there’s a trail of perspiration on the cotton. There’s not, allowing me to breathe easier. “You look nice. Don’t be nervous.”