Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
His filthy words send a jolt straight through my core, liquefying me. Pleasure blooms in waves, crashing over me again and again. There's no room for pretense or play as I shatter. There's only sensation, infinite and exquisite.
His low growl of satisfaction vibrates through me as he buries himself deep inside me, following me over the edge. His cock jerks as his seed splashes inside me in hot pulses that leave me moaning his name into the pillow until I'm gasping for breath.
For long moments after, we simply lay there, trembling and tangled up together. And then Carver groans, placing a soft kiss against my shoulder as he rolls us carefully, still buried deep inside me.
"If you keep letting me play like this, I'll take everything you have, little angel," he warns, his voice a heated murmur against my skin.
"Maybe you should," I breathe, the first words I've spoken as I turn to face him. His eyes lock onto mine, the gunmetal gray depths swirling with something fierce and possessive. "I like it when Daddy is a bad man, doing bad things to me."
His roar reverberates through the room, the sound of a man on the edge of something vast and infinite. Something that doesn't scare him at all.
The sound has a joyous laugh burbling from my lips.
He hears it and shakes his head, his eyes soft.
"Dangerous little girl," he mutters without heat.
Before I can respond, his arms are around me, lifting me from the bed in a way that makes me feel weightless, priceless. He cradles me to his chest, striding from the room.
"Shower time, little angel," he says, a possessive glint in his eyes and a thread in his voice that leave no room for argument.
I rest my head on his shoulder, perfectly content to let him take me where he will. He carries me into the bathroom, juggling me easily as he gets the shower going. Within minutes, steam billows around us.
He holds me carefully as he steps into the tiny shower. Hot water cascades over us, pulling a moan from my lips.
There's barely any room to work with, but somehow, Carver makes it work. His hands are everywhere as he gently lathers me up with soap, leaving me slick and tingling."Fucking love this," he grunts, brushing his fingers across my belly. "It's so damn soft and sweet."
I don't have to ask to know he means it. I feel the truth every time he touches me. My body is far from perfect, but in his eyes, it's a masterpiece worthy of the most ardent devotion.
I tilt my head back, closing my eyes as he traces the curves he's claimed as his own, worshiping them with a gentleness that should seem foreign on him but fits him like a glove.
"You like that?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, sending another thrill through me.
"More than you know," I whisper back, leaning into his touch, craving the contrast of his calloused hands on my sensitive skin.
He kisses me gently and then rinses the suds from my body, ensuring every last bubble is gone. When the last one swirls down the drain, those gray eyes meet mine, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"I like getting you dirty, little angel," he rumbles. "But goddamn if cleaning you up isn't heaven on earth."
My heart flutters at his words, and I find myself falling even deeper for this beautiful, rough man.
"I can help you cook," I say later that night, watching from the couch as he moves around the kitchen. His back is to me, his broad shoulders shifting as he cooks. I can't help but stare, fascinated by the way his muscles play beneath his skin. He's a study in contradictions—hard edges and soft touches, fierce growls and gentle whispers…every inch of him perfect.
He glances at me over his shoulder, one brow arched as if he thinks I've lost my mind. "I take care of you, Lena," he says. "Not the other way around."
My stomach flutters at the heat in his voice. Part of me—the part that's always been smothered by my grandfather and Dalton, yearning for independence—wants to argue. But this—the way Carver cares for me—doesn't feel smothering. It's endearing, sweet. I like it a lot. So I don't argue. I simply nod and settle down on the couch, content to let him have his way.
He rewards me with a grin. Those seem to come a little more often the longer we spend together. I'm not sure what happened to him, but I have a feeling that he didn't leave the military for the fun of it. I think I was right yesterday—something bad happened. I'm not sure what, but he wears his wounds like armor.
"Yesterday, you said your family owns a company," he calls over his shoulder, the clatter of a pan punctuating his words. "Tell me about it."