Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
It seemed too good to be true—the sudden ability to continue our relationship without any repercussions.
I pulled back the cover and snorted at the limited space between him and the edge of the bed.
“You’re going to push me off.”
“I would never push you off.” He delivered the promise with the solemn oath of a choir boy hiding a stolen toy behind his back. “Fuck you off the bed? Maybe.” He grinned.
I crawled onto the mattress, sliding under the covers and against his hard, warm body. “I ate enough lasagna to bust the stomach of a pig. So did you. No one is fucking anyone off any bed tonight. Plus…” I yawned, for the twentieth time that night. “I can barely keep my eyes open as it is.”
He rolled me over until my back was to his chest, us both on our sides, and cupped me against his body. “Fine. We won’t break the bed tonight. But soon. Tomorrow.”
I smiled. “I’ll put it on the calendar.”
He gently nibbled on my shoulder, the scruff of his beard tickling me, and I squirmed. “Stop. Go to bed. I mean it.”
“Fine.” He kissed the spot, and I felt the pillow settle as he laid his head down. “You need a longer bed.” He stage-whispered the words, and I ignored them, a smile playing across my lips. “I’ll buy you one tomorrow. With more pillows. And night lights. I need a night light.”
At that ridiculous statement, I pulled at the closest pillow and swung it around, the cotton connecting with his shoulder with a loud slap.
He growled, stealing it from me, and threw his leg over mine, trapping me in his embrace. “Stop talking and let me sleep. It’s hard enough without a night light.”
My torso shook with an attempt to contain my laughter. “I don’t like you.” My words cracked in their attempt at severity.
“No, you don’t.” He nuzzled my neck and planted a kiss on my shoulder. “You love me.”
I said nothing, but it was true. He squeezed me gently, a warm cocoon of strong muscles, steady heartbeats, and soft kisses. God, I’d missed his arms. His touch. The way he held me. I felt safe.
“How did you like Louisiana?”
I turned at the question, shifting so I could see his face. “You mean, other than being apart from you?”
“Yeah. Other than that.”
“I don’t know…” I shrugged, trying to think of something nice to say about the place he grew up in. “I stayed at Laurent’s house all the time. Except for the one time we went to church.”
He groaned. “Oh god. The big white barn?”
I laughed. “You know it?”
“Are you kidding?” He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his gaze moving over my smile. “Every Sunday while my mother was alive. Those two-hour sermons were my own personal hell.”
I winced. “I think that’s blasphemous.”
“Trust me.” He leaned over and gently nipped at my nose. “God himself was bored in that barn.”
I smiled at the image of a young Dario, in a button-up shirt and khaki pants, sitting beside his mother in the pew. My grin faded. “I wish I could have met your mother.”
“Yeah.” He settled onto his side. “I wish you could have too. She would have loved you.”
He’d lost so much in his life. Both parents. His life in Louisiana. And now Gwen. He gathered me to his chest, his touch tender, and all I wanted, was to give him everything back. Erase all the pain. Heal his future. Our future. Which was a giant fuzzy blur of a concept at this time.
I loved him. And that unknown future of us terrified me.
Something jutted against my hip. Something hard. It pushed against me, then retreated.
I felt the drag of it down the back of my thigh and giggled against the pillow when it moved in between my legs. “Stop.”
The mattress shifted, and I opened one eye to see a hand braced on the bed next to my head. It was a good hand. Strong, long fingers. Short clipped nails. Muscular. Tan. The cords of his wrists flexed and I felt the unexpected burst of hot air against my ear.
“Good morning.”
God, his voice in the morning. Thick. Gruff. If you put that good morning on a pancake, women would be orgasming their way through IHOP. His lips softly closed on my earlobe and tugged, the sensation traveling all the way through my body and down to my toes. Now, I was awake.
He lowered his body, that forearm flexing, and I felt that hard, insistent cock push in between my legs, my pajama pants creating a madding barrier that needed to be removed, immediately. I reached down, squirming to find the room to move, and worked the drawstring pants over my hips.
He didn’t help. He lifted his hips off me, held up his weight with his hands, and did nothing.