Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
I get all her firsts. She gets to use my body to learn everything she wants to learn. Am I an asshole for being happy about that? Probably. But part of me is happy about it.
"It's just a V-Card, Easton." She rolls her eyes. "It's not like it's the Holy Grail. Besides, it's not like you still have yours."
I feel the tips of my ears burning before her mouth pops open.
"Oh my gosh. You do," she whispers, shock lancing through the statement. "There's no way you do."
"Why not?"
"Because you're…" she trails off, motioning at me. "You're you. You're thirty-two. You're hot. You're a cop. I don't know a single hot, thirty-two-year-old hot cop who has his V-Card, Easton."
"You do now," I mutter.
"But…how?"
"I've been telling you for weeks that I'm not like everyone else. Your dad may have been a philandering prick, but mine wasn't." I shrug. "I'm not saying I'm a saint because I'm not, princess. I fooled around once or twice when I was younger, but I never slept with anyone. I never let it get that far."
She stares at me, a bemused expression on her face. "You were saving yourself for marriage," she finally whispers.
"No." I shake my head, holding her gaze. "I was saving myself for you." It's the truth as far as I see it. "I don't need a ring on your finger to take you to my bed. I already know it's going to end that way for the two of us. I'm determined to make sure it ends there."
"Every time we talk, I feel like an even bigger jerk than the last time," she murmurs, touching my cheek.
"You aren't a jerk, princess. You're a prickly little lamb." I nuzzle my face against the side of her throat, grunting at how goddamn good she smells. Fucking hell, I want that scent all over me.
A soft laugh burbles from her lips. "A prickly little lamb? Really, Easton?"
"Yeah, really." I nip the pulse pounding beneath her ear, making her shift and whimper. "You hide behind sarcasm, torture, and that sexy fucking attitude like it's going to keep you from falling for me, but we both know that underneath it, you're soft and sweet and cuddly as fuck." I lick a trail down the side of her throat, loving the way she trembles for me. "We also know you're fucking dying to let yourself love me."
Before I even know what's happening, she's wrapped herself around me like a fucking koala bear, her lips against my ear. "Is this cuddly enough, Easton?"
"Fuck," I groan when I feel the heat of her pussy against my cock. Even through our damn clothes, she's burning hot. I buck my hips, trying to get closer, both of my hands planted on her luscious ass. "Getting warmer, princess."
"M-maybe you should show me how cuddly I am underneath my prickly exterior. You know, for science," she suggests, her breathing choppy.
Oh, hell yes.
"Is that an invitation to get you naked in my bed, Molly? I need you to be real fucking clear right now," I growl, thrusting a hand into her hair to crane her head back. Her eyes are wide and dilated, so dark with desire they make my fucking cock throb. "Because I don't want you regretting a goddamn thing between us. I'll go as slow as I need to go to make sure you're on the same page as me."
"Easton? I don't need slow. I need you. Take me to bed."
Chapter Seven
Molly
Easton is all over me as he carries me down the hall toward his bedroom, kissing me like he can't stop himself. I can't seem to stop myself, either. Or maybe I just don't want to stop.
I judged him so wrong the day we met, and I clung to that misjudgment for weeks, determined to keep him out. But I'm done keeping him at bay. I'm done fighting this—fighting him. He isn't my father. He isn't our coworkers. He's just Easton.
He's given me so much grace to be Molly—to be myself. Even when I've been bitchy and standoffish and done everything all wrong, he's still shown me grace and understanding I don't deserve.
He deserves the same loyalty, the same consideration. He deserves for someone to fight for him just as hard.
We pass into his bedroom, and I catch flashes of the space around us as he carries me through—antique wood furniture, plush navy and forest green area rugs, and black and white photos on the walls of what must be his family through the years.
But he doesn't stop at the massive bed in the center of the room. Instead, he carries me through another door into the en suite bathroom. The light flickers on automatically as we enter, illuminating the space around us. It's just as warm and inviting as his bedroom—all honey-colored wood and natural stone. There's a huge glass-enclosed shower and a deep soaking tub in the corner.