Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I grab his face. “Don’t make me wait.” My words are breathy and impatient.
Fitz grins. “Wait for what?” He kisses his way down my body, kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed while peeling off my panties.
“I n-need you.” I try to sit up, desperate to pull him on top of me.
Instead, he rests his hands on my knees, spreading my legs and dipping his head between them.
“Oh god.” I flop back onto the bed, one hand finding his hair, my other claiming a fistful of sheets at my side.
Something between a hum and a moan escapes him while he licks and sucks me intimately with complete abandon and unhinged seduction.
I want this, but I want him inside me when it happens. My need for him to fill me outweighs my need for a release.
I moan. Yes, a moan. Who am I kidding? He’s always made me moan.
My body wriggles and twists to get him to stop because I haven’t felt this level of hunger from him, and it’s unraveling me too quickly. “C-Calvin Fitzgerald?”
I manage to get him to lift his head.
Hungry eyes.
Wet lips.
He slides off his pants and briefs, keeping his gaze on me the whole time, while I creep on my knees toward him.
“What do you need, baby?” He nibbles at my neck, his hands on my ass, then my breasts, and in my hair like he wants to touch me everywhere at once.
I take his erection in my hand. “I need you inside me.”
The second my back contacts the mattress, he grabs my thighs and thrusts into me.
“Oh god!” I grip his ass, taking a second to acclimate. “Don’t rush it,” I say just before he sucks on my bottom lip.
With a strained laugh, he releases it. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I grin, and he kisses me.
Everything about us feels right. We fit. The Capricorn and the Virgo. Does he feel it? Did he feel this—whatever invisible thing this is—from the day we met? I did.
Does he know I’ve never felt so loved? Yet, he’s never said those words directly to me. He thinks he’s broken, but he’s not. He’s molded, sculpted, and perfectly created just for me.
He’s mine.
“Jaymes . . .” He runs out of breath, hand on my ass, guiding me so that we fit as close as possible while pumping into me at a quickening pace.
I curl my fingers into the thick muscles along his backside as my lips part in a silent cry.
His face tenses, neck stretched, body ridged: a beautiful masterpiece—the finest specimen.
He lowers his body to lie flush to mine, and we breathe together. I know I’ll run out of oxygen soon from his weight. But for now, I’m content stroking his hair while his fingers ghost along my hip and leg.
It’s the ultimate walk of shame.
We enter the house’s back door to find Will and Maren waiting for us in the living room. Will’s watching football, and Maren’s scrolling on her phone.
Fitz doesn’t skip a beat. He acts like he just got home from work, heading straight to the coffee machine and tossing in a K-cup. I, on the other hand, shoot Will and Maren a cringey smile while making a beeline upstairs for the bathroom to clean up.
After handling things in the cleanup department, I make what feels like a second walk of shame back down the stairs.
Maren spies me first and smiles. “How was it?”
Fitz, parked at the counter with his back to Maren, coughs on his coffee.
I shrug a shoulder. “It was fine.”
Will snorts while I pass Fitz to get a glass of water.
“What’s everyone wearing to the party tonight?” I ask.
“Will and I are going as Jack Skellington and Sally,” Maren says enthusiastically.
“The Nightmare Before Christmas?” I laugh. “Very cool.” I inspect Fitz.
“Don’t look at him,” Will says. “He never dresses up. Ever.”
I can’t help the sour expression on my face. “You invited me to a Halloween party, but you’re not dressing up?”
He pauses his coffee mug at his lips and inspects me like he’s still thinking about what happened in the shed. “Correct.”
“That’s not okay, Fitz.”
He grins. “Do you have a costume?”
“Absolutely. Wicked Kitty.”
“Come again?” He scrutinizes me.
“Black leather teddy. Black thigh-high boots. Ears. Mask. Whip.”
“That sounds hot,” Maren says.
Fitz shoots her a look, but I don’t think it’s a kind one.
“I was thinking you could dress up as a smoke jumper.” He gives me a tight grin.
My forearms rest on the counter, so we’re face to face. “I’ll go as a smoke jumper if you go as the wicked kitty. Someone’s wearing the wicked-kitty costume.”
“I’ll pay you a hundred dollars if you go as the wicked kitty,” Will offers.
“I’ll add an extra hundred,” Maren chimes in with a laugh.
“Want me to call Gary and Evette to see if they want in on this?” I ask. “You could make some good money tonight.”