Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“No. You’re definitely not. You’re too smart for your own good, and I’m sorry.” He almost snarls it, this odd mix of cynical humor and anger tangled in every word. “You can be oblivious, though. But smart. So smart. So bright. So beautiful. So batshit insane. You’re out of your fucking mind, Miss Eleanor Lark, and you’re driving me out of mine.”
. . . I’m so lost.
And I can’t catch my breath when his eyes are blue fire and he’s so close and he smells like that stark stony scent of his aftershave.
The roughness of his thumb glides over my lip until it feels sensitized again.
“A-August?” I manage. “I don’t get what you’re trying to say.”
“I’m saying I’m not in love with Charisma, or her memory, or whatever the fuck my guilt has made her,” he snarls. “I’m—”
He cuts off sharply, looking away.
His hand falls.
“I’m not fucking drunk enough for this conversation,” he mutters. “Or maybe too drunk. I don’t know. I just know that drunk or sober, you’re turning me upside down, and I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t stop thinking about you, woman. Can’t stop wanting you. It’s confusing as hell.”
“I don’t mean to be.” And August isn’t the only one who’s confused, but more than anything, what I’m feeling is . . . hope?
Yes, that’s it.
Selfish, guilty hope.
I came here to apologize, to stop pushing at him, but all he’s done is make me want even more.
Tentatively, I step closer. I touch my fingers to his stomach, tracing the sleek, hard ripple of his abs.
“Does it have to be confusing?” I whisper. My voice trembles, matching my fingertips. He feels so good under my touch. “Can’t we just make this simple?”
His haggard breaths echo over the night.
He steps closer, his heat invading me, his looming presence nearly enveloping me, this menacing beast, and yet to me he’s never been dangerous.
He’s the wounded beast with a thorn in his paw.
Just begging for a gentle touch to pry it out and soothe the pain.
With my eyes lowered, I can see how stark his knuckles are as his hands hang at his side, clenching and unclenching restlessly.
Touch me, I beg silently. Touch me with those brutal hands.
“Do you know what you’re asking me, Elle?” August growls.
I look up at him.
Anyone who didn’t know him would think he was furious right now—his eyes livid and hot, his lips slightly peeled back from clenched teeth, his jaw steel.
But I do know him.
Right now, he’s not angry.
He’s desperate.
“I know,” I whisper, sliding my hands up his chest, curling my fingers against his neck. His pulse beats so hard against my palm, furious and powerful. “I’m asking you for everything.”
I don’t have the power to force him, to demand anything.
But I can still ask.
And I do, asking in the sway of my body toward his. In the stroke of my fingers against his throat and the subtle pull against his bulk.
He answers.
The night may be silent, but together we’re the rumble of an approaching storm.
His hands are hard against my arms.
His mouth is violent against mine.
And I wouldn’t have him any other way—passionate, needy, telling me that no matter what he says or how he fights it, there’s something inside him that’s honest and raw and wants me as much as I want him.
His mouth slants hard against mine, stealing my breath, stealing my will, until I’m a molten wreck.
I rise up on my toes to meet him.
We’re two storm fronts colliding to make lightning with every touch.
“Please,” I whisper against his mouth. “August, please.”
I still remember the first time.
The silent, devouring intensity when August locks onto me and shuts out the world.
So locked on there are no words, only desire, and desire is what pours into me as his tongue lashes my lips until they burn.
His teeth nip and play until I quiver with every sharp taste of him, his body leaning into mine and backing me across the deck until suddenly we’re inside.
The shadow of his bedroom falls over me, and my calves hit the edge of his bed.
Gravity and his strength tilt me down, spilling me irresistibly onto his bed.
He’s a titan hovering over me, a silent shadow in the darkness, the shape of his body sculpted for perfect sin.
For a moment, I can only look up, totally breathless. So overcome by his blue eyes, completely helpless to resist as he rips my robe away.
I kick my slippers off next, and there’s nothing left to shield me from his roving touch as hot fingers slide over my silky camisole, my shorts, shaping me like his burning touch could melt my flesh into any shape he wants.
I feel naked already.
Not just my skin, but my soul.
The all-consuming way he’s watching me: it’s the same way he looked at my sketches earlier.