Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
My head feels like it’s about to explode. “They are not your trees,” I shriek in frustration. “They are on a piece of land that—”
That’s as far as I get before Coen grabs me by the shoulders and jerks me forward. My first thought is he’s going to throttle me because I’ve pushed him too far, but instead, his mouth comes down on mine.
It’s not a nice kiss, but punishing in its force and bruising in its intensity.
And it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.
This is not a mere smashing of lips the way I did to him earlier today but rather open-mouthed with his tongue sliding in to tangle with mine.
I’m so embarrassed that my reaction is to groan so loudly, I’m afraid the wildlife might be scared away. But Coen seems to like the sound, because he growls into my mouth and hauls me closer. One hand goes to the back of my head and the other to my ass to pull me into his body.
I’m so freaking dizzy as he forces me against him, and I feel every hard plane that he’s honed with exercise. Most keenly, I feel the thick bulge of his erection against my stomach.
Coen wrenches his mouth away and presses his forehead to mine. His chest heaves, and my legs shake. “Why are you such an irritating pain in my ass?”
I open my mouth to argue, but he shakes his head. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
And then he’s kissing me again, and I cling to him for dear life.
This is, without a doubt, the most bewildering yet exciting thing that’s ever happened to me in my life.
This man, who I pretty much despise but who I’m also heavily attracted to, seems to have the same draw to me.
And he’s gorgeous and domineering and grumpy, and for some reason, he makes me want to be impetuous right along with him.
I give myself grace—just a moment to honestly ask if I’m crazy for letting him kiss me—and then I decide I want to be crazy and see what’s on the other side.
My hand slides into his hair, fingernails scraping lightly along his scalp. His chest rumbles, and his hands slap to my ass, pulling me against his hard length as he brutalizes my mouth.
And then… he hoists me up, forcing my legs around his waist, and he’s walking.
Moving gracefully without once lifting his lips from mine.
He backs me right into a tree—thoughtful or not, the bark is smooth, so I’m guessing yellow birch, but I’m not about to pull away to verify.
With my body pinned against the trunk, Coen grinds against me, and a jumble of words fall from my mouth into his.
Oh God.
Yes.
Oh God.
Please.
My fingers tighten in his hair and I grip hard, causing him to hiss.
But he never stops kissing me or pressing what is an intimidatingly large erection into my core.
I’m hot, needy, on the verge of begging, and he’s been kissing me no longer than fifteen or twenty seconds at most.
Happening so damn fast.
Coen’s mouth moves from mine to graze along my jaw, feather down my neck, and then he bites me on the tender flesh just below my shoulder. I jerk in his arms, and he chuckles against my skin, except it doesn’t come across as amusement.
More like sinister promise, and I’m okay with that. For one reason only, and that’s despite him being a world-class jerk and my border enemy, he saved me from bullies today. He played it off and would deny it if confronted, but he heard the things Cici said to me, saw that she wasn’t going to stop, and he chased her off.
It pains me to admit, but this puts my nemesis in a gray area where I’m wildly attracted to him, even knowing he’s going to use all his resources to bring me down.
Is that what makes this more exciting?
Certainly, it makes it more fucking confusing.
No time to ponder that as Coen lowers my feet back to the ground, and I almost protest, but then his hands are at the button and zipper of my shorts. His fingers move fast, efficiently, and in the blink of an eye, his hand is down my panties.
“Oh,” I gasp, head falling back against the tree. He does no more than cup me, and I swear I can feel my heartbeat between my legs, pulsing against his hand.
Coen stares down at me with such a feral intensity, it makes me want to shrink away, even as my hips push insistently against his hand.
“Christ,” he mutters and I rock against him wantonly. His eyes blaze with what looks like both lust and irritation, and I understand it all too well. It’s exactly how I feel right now.
His hand squeezes me and I groan, but then it’s gone.
I start to cry out in true protest—hell, give me a sign, and I’ll march the picket line—but then my breath freezes as he falls to his knees. Gripping my hips, he presses his face to the juncture between my legs and exhales hot breath that seeps right through the fabric and into my skin.