Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
The words hang between us, shimmering in the steamy air. A long shaky breath escapes her, then slowly, so slowly, the tension begins to thaw from her body. Her shoulders drop. Her spine melts against my chest. Her head tilts back and rests lightly against my shoulder, damp hair clinging to my skin. She lets herself sink into me and trusts me not to hurt her.
My palm stays flat against her stomach, thumb brushing the soft skin just below her navel in slow, absent circles. I’m aching—desperately hard against her, every shift of her hips sending fresh heat through me—but I don’t move. I just hold her, breathing her in, letting the moment stretch and burn between us.
Chapter Twenty-Five
VIOLA
Unable to resist, I turn, twisting in the tub and facing him. Our eyes meet and without permission, my gaze drifts down to his lips. They’re sensuous. Beautifully so. My heart races so hard I feel it throbbing madly between my legs. Before I can think better of it, I lean forward and kiss him.
It’s shy. Almost tentative. I’m testing the water—testing him. My lips brush his once, soft, barely there, and I feel the hitch in his breath. His mouth is softer than I expected, and the moment we connect something foreign and electric sizzles through me. It starts low in my belly and spreads outward like wildfire until every inch of my skin tingles. My nipples tighten against the cool air above the surface of the water, and aches for more.
He could have taken control, shown me who’s boss like Salvatore did every damn time, but he doesn’t. He lets me lead, one hand resting on my hip under the water, thumb tracing slow, absent circles that make me shiver. I tilt my head, pressing deeper, tasting him—salt and heat and the faint trace of wine still on his tongue. The kiss turns sweet and hungry at the same time, lips parting, tongues sliding together in lazy, exploratory strokes. My heart is pounding so loud I swear he must be able to feel it through my chest.
My mind is spinning—this is the man who could ruin me with one wrong word, one wrong move, but it feels so good, so utterly right, I just can’t stop. A quiet moan slips out of me. It is soft but needy.
I shift, too eager, and displace a huge amount of water. It splashes loudly over the marble edge and floods the floor. I freeze for a heartbeat, embarrassed by my awkwardness, but he smiles. And the smile turns into a wonderful adoring laugh, and I burst out laughing too. The sound tangles together in the humid air and feels… easy. Natural. Like we’re allowed to be clumsy here, allowed to be human.
I twist away and lean against him, and his laughter rumbles through his chest into mine, vibrating against my spine, and I feel his arms tighten around me—just enough to steady me, not enough to trap.
He’s different.
He slides his mouth down the side of my neck, slow and deliberate, lips brushing the sensitive skin just below my ear. My body jerks in response, and I tilt my head to give him more. He kisses lower, trailing open-mouthed presses along my shoulder, down the length of my arm, tasting the droplets still clinging to my skin. Every touch sends sparks racing through me—sharp, bright.
I reach for his hand where it rests around my waist, fingers trembling as I guide it higher, pressing his palm to my breast. He molds it instantly—slow, reverent—like he’s memorizing the exact weight, the exact shape, the way my nipple hardens and tightens under the rough pad of his thumb. The moan that escapes from my mouth sounds low and broken. I arch into his touch, hips rocking slightly under the water. I can feel how hard and thick he is pressed firmly against the small of my back. He’s so ready it makes my thighs press together instinctively, aching with the same desperate need.
His mouth moves back up my neck, teeth grazing lightly over my pulse point, tongue soothing the faint sting. The contrast—sharp bite, soft lick—drives me crazy. My skin feels too tight, too sensitive, every brush of his lips is like a spark on dry tinder.
Spark.
Spark.
Spark
And suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. I need more, much more. Much, much more. I grab his arm again, tugging it lower, guiding his hand down my stomach, past my navel, between my legs.
His fingers find me—slick, swollen, throbbing. I surrender completely as he rubs the flesh on top of my clit in slow, perfect circles. Oh! The pleasure is immediate, sharp, almost too much.
My hips jerk restlessly against his hand as he slides one thick finger inside me. Then another, stretching me. And yet another. He curls them just right, and rubs a strange spot inside me. It causes my head to spin. All the while his thumb keeps working my clit, steady and relentless.