Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I came to a stop, my sports bra sticking to me, a line of sweat running down my face. I wiped my forearm across my cheek and met his eyes, my breath coming out hard from my final sprint. "Hey."
"Hey."
"You're back."
He stepped forward and came to a stop in front of me, then reached out and tugged on the ends of my ponytail. "Yep."
"I missed you." I couldn't hold the confession back. It was true, no matter how much I hated it.
His grin broke, as he looked down, trying to hide the reaction. His dimple winked at me, and the combination made my legs weak.
"Don't leave me again." The strain in my voice showed and he looked back up, somber.
"Okay." He nodded.
I came down from my orgasm, his cock deep inside, his sandy body draped over mine, two shapes, both bent forward against the bedroom window, his mouth at my neck, the heave of his chest against my back as he thrust, groaned, moaned my name as he marked me as his own. He shuddered inside me before pulling out, whispering my name with a salty kiss against the back of my neck.
My legs gave out and he caught me before I fully dropped, dragging me backward until we were both flat on my bed.
"God, I love fucking you." His breath was heavy, and the bed shifted when he rolled, pulling me closer.
"Same here." I closed my eyes, appreciating the drift of air across my damp skin, and needing a moment to recover.
"I need a shower."
I grinned. "Me too. Give me a minute. I can’t move right now.”
"I don't have a thing to do today. Take as long as you need."
My eyes were still closed, but I felt him lift my hand. There was the delicate trace of one of his fingers over the lines on my palm. His soft lips pressed against the spot, and my fingers closed around his mouth.
"I love you like this." His voice was muffled slightly by my hand and I released it, my mouth curving into a smile.
"Like what?"
“Naked and satisfied. Nothing on, nothing to make me feel inferior."
That opened my eyes. I turned my head and tilted it up to him. "Inferior? Why would you feel that way?"
"We live in different worlds, Lucky. Don't insult me by ignoring that fact."
I kept quiet and the soft trail of his hand over my back apologized for the tone of his voice. "But you're here now."
"Yeah. I couldn't even tell you where I've been. Everything..." He grew quiet. "Everything fades unless I'm with you."
It should have been a compliment. Instead, it felt more like a prison sentence. A statement of fact. I didn't respond.
"I wish my mom could have met you."
I forgot, for a moment, to breathe. I stayed quiet and waited to see what would follow, which path this conversation would take.
"She was so beautiful. Hair like yours—curly. Never in control. She used to chase me around the house, and it would bounce, like a third person in the room." His voice dropped, as if he had fallen asleep, and I strained for more. When he spoke again, I could barely hear him.
"I can't really remember my father. I was eight when they were killed. A drunk driver, some country-club asshole on a Sunday afternoon who ran headfirst into their car. He lived, they didn't." His touch on my back had grown hard.
"I'm so sorry, Lee.” I didn’t know what else to say, how to react to a story that I knew the truth about.
He ignored the sentiment and continued forward, like his words were bottled up and needed an escape, his voice tight and quick, each syllable dipped in anxiety. "I didn't have any other family, at least none that would take me, so I ended up in the foster care system. I had eight different homes by the time I turned eighteen. Three of the homes were okay, but the other five..." He pulled away and I rolled over, following him. I rested my head on his shoulder and wrapped my arm around his chest. Trapped him against me by winding a leg through his, until every part of my body was linked with his. It was the only way I knew to give him comfort, to make him feel safe.
He cleared his thought. “Five ... were bad. I disappeared when I turned eighteen. Got a few thousand bucks from the state and took off." His hand returned to my back, and he drew a line down my spine. "You and I ... we've lived different lives. I've never been taken care of. Have never had enough to take care of myself, much less spoil a woman like you. My entire life has been about survival. Fighting to get where I am, to get to the point where I will be good enough for someone."