Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“D-d-didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, his face showing regret and guilt.
“You didn’t. I was awake.”
He nods as he finishes taking off his shirt. I bite down on my lip as he reveals the ink that is covering his beautiful arms and abs. Admittedly, my interaction with guys is limited except for Thomas. Still, his broad frame and the beautiful ink that caresses his arms and hand draw my eyes. I couldn’t look away if my life depended on it. The ink that covers his biceps and moves lovingly down his arm draws my eyes and inevitably my gaze moves to his six-pack. The urge to run the tip of my tongue through those well-defined lines on his abdomen is almost too much to handle. One side effect of pregnancy very few women talk about is that you crave human contact—especially late at night. My hormones are crazy. I bite down on my lip as he undoes his belt. I can feel my body awakening in ways that I shouldn’t let it. I can’t go there with Thomas.
But I want to.
Maybe it wasn’t as good as I remember? Maybe if I had him again, it would show me that I’m wrong and what we shared wasn’t unmatchable.
Maybe I’m just trying to justify a reason to jump his bones.
I close my eyes as he unbuttons his pants. I can’t look. I can’t look.
I’m so damn weak. I open one eye. His hands have stalled on his hips, his fingers, pushed in against the waist of his jeans, but not moving them down his lean, tone body. I let my gaze move up higher to find him grinning at me.
Shit.
I open the other eye.
“Babe,” he murmurs.
“I had something in my eye,” I grumble, turning over and giving him my back. I freeze when Thomas laughs. My heart squeezes in my chest.
God, I’ve missed that sound so much.
I look at him automatically, his full lips spread in a smile, his beautiful body on display, his pale blue boxers proudly showing off his huge—and obviously aroused cock. Damn. Just damn. Thomas should be illegal for any girl to see. There’s too much perfection wrapped up in him. It’s way too dangerous. Gabby was such a fucking idiot. If I had Thomas’s love, I would have held onto it with both hands.
But I didn’t…
As reality intrudes—effectively dousing my hormones with ice water—I turn back around, my heart feeling a sharp pain in the center. I read somewhere that people die every day of a broken heart because the hurt and grief is too much for them to handle. I should probably worry, because having Thomas this close and knowing he’s not mine where it counts is a pain that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
He comes over to the bed, still not wearing a shirt, although he does have some joggers on, so I guess I should be thankful. As he lays down, I flip off the light. I’m not brave enough to look at his face when he’s lying this close in bed with me.
“You okay?” he asks and I can tell he’s turned into me because I can feel his warm breath caress against my skin. I close my eyes and try to push away the hunger I feel for him.
“Mostly,” I answer, not sure what else to say.
“Mostly?” he questions and I sigh.
“Confused, I guess. I’m not sure what we’re doing, Thomas—or if we should be doing it.”
“We should and w-will do a lot m-more.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I mumble, putting my hands under my head after I rolled over to face Thomas. I’m thankful for the dark, but there’s enough light shining in the room from the window that I can see the soft lines of his face, reminding me that he is a work of art and that once I thought he was meant to be mine…
“N-nothing is easy for me to say, honey.”
My brow furrows as I try to figure out what he means and then it hits me and my lips twitch as I shake my head slightly.
“Cute, Thomas.”
“Only you c-could describe something I’ve b-been ashamed of my whole life as c-c-cute.”
“It’s nothing you should be ashamed of. It’s part of who you are.”
“Doesn’t change the way people view you or how they treat you, Lyla.”
“That’s on them—not you.”
“It’s not that s-s-simple.”
“I’m listening if you want to tell me,” I respond gently.
I really would like to hear what he means. I shouldn’t, but I want him to confide in me. I have no idea what we’re doing or where this is going. What I do know is that Thomas and I are going to be a part of one another’s life in some form for a very long time. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want a relationship with him.