Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
My own balls were tightening and I knew I was going to come just as quickly as he was. I felt him tense up a few moments later, his fingertips pressing into my skin as he let out a string of curses, shooting white all over my hand and his own stomach.
“The fucking best,” he was muttering as he came. “Best I’ve ever had in my damn life.”
My heart fluttered in my chest. I’d been complimented on my skills plenty of times, but I liked it better coming out of his mouth.
“Goddamn I fucking need you,” I growled, pumping faster into him as I knew I was about to lose control. I stiffened as I thrust deep into him, filling the condom inside him and tightening my grip on his hand as I came. My eyes slid shut and I was reduced to nothing but heat and sensation and wanting.
So fucking much wanting. Needing. All of the things I’d never let myself truly feel for anyone.
I let my orgasm roll through me, wave after wave, as I regained my breath. When my eyes fluttered open, Shawn was looking up at me from underneath like some sort of filthy, fallen angel, his cheeks still flushed and his hair like a dark fluffy halo surrounding his head.
I felt like I was floating somewhere above myself as I slid out of him. I padded over to the bathroom, tossing off my condom and grabbing a washcloth. I put it under warm water and went back out to the bed, where he was still splayed out on the sheets, watching me.
“Here,” I said, wiping off his stomach and cock with the warm cloth. He hummed as he felt it.
“Christ, that almost feels as good as the orgasm did,” he murmured.
I puffed out a laugh. “I like a warm washcloth too, but I’m not sure if I buy that.”
“Okay, true,” he conceded. “But I do love this.”
I slowly ran the cloth all over his torso and upper thighs until he was totally clean. He had a little cluster of freckles on his upper right arm, and something about the low light of the room made them stand out to me in a way I’d never noticed before.
After putting away the cloth and coming back to bed, I found myself looking over all of his body in the same way, noticing every little thing about him I loved so much.
The freckles on his arm. The way his hair always seemed to want to swoop in one direction or the other. I laced my fingers in between his again as I lay next to him, running my thumb over his individual fingers and marveling at his workman’s hands, so goddamn strong looking and hot.
“I already know you’re going to hog the blankets again,” Shawn was saying, grinning at me as he got under the soft, white sheets, pulling them all the way up to his chin.
“Excuse me?” I protested. “From what I recall, you are the sheet-stealer of the two of us.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “I wake up with my ass out in the cold because you roll yourself up like a big ol’ Rush burrito in the night.”
“Well, if you get cold, come be my little spoon for warmth,” I said. “Maybe it’s all part of my plan.”
“Diabolical.”
“Get over here,” I said, getting under the sheets myself and grabbing for his body, clutching it close to mine.
My heart started to beat harder and faster as I held him close.
I had already come. I’d shot my load, really damn hard, and I still wanted him close. Closer, now, even.
Because you’re fucking falling for him.
So why did I still feel like I was always about to screw everything up?
19
SHAWN
I ran my fingertips over a solid plank of wood, breathing in deep and getting a whiff of the fresh lumber all around me.
“Heavenly,” I said. “Nothing’s better than the smell of fresh wood.”
We were in the lumber shop at the edge of town. It was the same place we’d been going to for our whole career, and it had never steered us wrong.
I waited for Rush to pipe up with some joke about “fresh wood,” or morning wood, or any of the million things he could say about it, considering my last name was Wood and the dick jokes were endless. But when I looked at him he was uncharacteristically serious, taking off his sunglasses and hooking them into the neck of his shirt.
“What is this stuff?” Rush asked Patrick, the guy helping us, pointing at a sample of cherry stained wood.
“This is our bread and butter these days,” Patrick said as he knocked his knuckles on the plank. “I think this is what you’ll end up choosing for your home. You can’t beat it.”
“Is it engineered wood or solid?” Rush asked, cocking his head to one side. He seemed very skeptical. “We’re looking for lumber to make custom built-in bookshelves.”