Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 129986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
I throw my head back into the pillows, smiling helplessly. “The poet hates it.”
“The poet is a fucking moron and is probably jealous of you, let’s be honest. He or she wishes I wanted their shitty nudes, and I don’t. I only want yours.”
I’m grinning helplessly, but his last words dig in deep and plant hooks in my heart. “Only mine?” I ask softly, pushing my fingers through his hair.
“Only yours,” he promises.
“You’re not just saying that to be nice?”
He smirks and gives me a kiss. “I’m not nice,” he tells me.
Tenderness fills me as I caress the side of his face. “You’re nice to me.”
“Sh.” He presses his finger to my lips, reminding me, “That was supposed to be our little secret.”
If I do this, will I be his little secret?
The thought whispers across my mind, but I don’t have time to entertain it.
Dare grabs something off the bed, something I didn’t notice before.
A square, foil packet.
Chase Darington is naked in my bed, on top of me, holding a condom.
He doesn’t ask if I’m ready or if I even want to.
Instead, he rips the packet open with his teeth, takes the little rubber ring out, and reaches down to slide it over his dick.
Ready or not, here we go.
Chapter twenty-three
Aubrey
My body tenses as Dare positions himself between my thighs.
I loved kissing and touching, but this part I’m afraid of. It could hurt, physically and emotionally, because the man between my thighs about to take what doesn’t belong to him doesn’t belong to me.
Only a fool would let him do this.
“Dare, wait,” I say softly, pushing against his chest and looking down where our pelvises are pressed together. “I think maybe we’re moving too fast. I mean, I know we are. This is—”
He covers my mouth before I can say another word.
Fear shoots through my veins, a reminder of the other night when he held his hand over my mouth and touched me even though I wasn’t sure he should.
He wouldn’t do that with my virginity… right?
I’m not sure, and I can’t tell looking up into his face. It’s intense, but strangely blank. Maybe shielded is a better word. I don’t know, but I want to fix it, so I do the only thing that springs to mind.
I kiss his palm. He watches me. I watch him back. I kiss the hand covering my mouth again, and then I turn my head and kiss his fingers, offering tenderness instead of resistance.
It works. His grip on my mouth eases. Figuring he must like what I’m doing, I keep kissing him. I kiss his wrist softly, then kiss his corded forearm. He has exceedingly sexy arms with prominent veins and sunkissed skin. He’s so beautiful, it’s easy to worship him. Natural, even.
I feel like I’ve narrowly escaped some kind of danger, but I don’t know if it’s true. Maybe there never was danger, or maybe there is and I’m not free of it. All I know is when he reaches out and grabs me by the throat, I don’t fight him, and I don’t resist.
He watches my face, waiting for a reaction.
His grip isn’t painful, just controlling. It’s not enough to demand entrance to my body—he needs to control my breathing, too.
I think it pleases him that I don’t fight, but I’ve never been grabbed by the throat before, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react.
He keeps his hand where it is and leans down to taste my lips. That’s the only way to put it. It’s not a kiss, it’s a tasting. I don’t partake, I just sit here with my heart beating wildly in my chest as he samples me.
“Delicious,” he murmurs against my skin when he’s finished.
He’s in control here. That’s the way he wants it, and I let him have it, keeping my doubts to myself as he reaches down and guides his cock back to my entrance.
He slips just the head of his cock into my slick pussy. My tummy tenses with nerves, my brain still reeling a bit that this is actually happening.
He pushes deeper until his cock comes up against that same fragile barrier his finger hit when he was exploring me with his hand.
His grip on my throat shifts to a tender caress. “It’s okay,” he says, his sure tone a salve on my frazzled nerves. “You don’t have to be scared. I won’t make it hurt more than it has to.”
It feels like that could apply to our whole relationship.
Deep down, I know this is a bad idea, but as his cock nudges the last barrier of resistance, I don’t ask him to stop. I brace my hands on his muscular arm and his shoulder. I tell myself to relax because tensing can only increase my discomfort.
He pushes forward, and I feel a twinge as my body stretches to accommodate him. My grip on him tightening seems to alert him to the discomfort because he stops.