Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
I took a deep breath, settling heavier into his warm body, breathing him in to quiet my mind. And when I focused on nothing else, his soothing, intoxicating scent lulled me into a deep sleep quicker than a Bob Ross episode.
I peeled my eyelids back, the early light of dawn creeping through the blinds from the window across my bedroom. I’d slept through the entire night, a sleep so heavy and deep and relaxing that I felt refreshed and clear and thankfully revitalized. I hadn’t tossed or turned throughout the night like I normally did. And I knew the reason…
I hate that part of me had assumed Hendrix would've bailed the second I passed out, calling an Uber back to his car, but there he was next to me, eyes closed and looking so much younger and playful in sleep.
Sleeping being right next to me.
In my bed.
We had slept together.
Not had sex. But slept together. My heart always soared at the sight of him first thing in the morning…but this? This was different. This was...more.
He must have felt me shift or felt my breath catch because he slowly opened his eyes and stretched his massive biceps over his head, the move enough to drop the sheet covering him. At some point during the night, he’d removed his shirt and pants. Leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs and ohmigod.
That fast, I wanted him.
And not in the normal, carnal way I craved him like an addiction, but in a new way. In a new and terrifying and exhilarating scary-as-hell way.
Because he'd stayed with me when he didn't have to.
"Morning, Butterfly," he said in a half-whisper. "How are you feeling?" He reached over and tucked me closer to his chest as he rubbed his hand up and down my spine.
The motion and touch was so familiar and so comfortable and so natural that my heart filled my entire throat until I couldn't breathe. Somehow, I managed to speak around it. "Great,” I said honestly.
"Why does it sound like there's a but hanging off of that great?" he asked playfully.
I nestled my head against his hard chest, unable to meet his eyes as I admitted, "I like waking up to you in the morning," I said.
And perhaps it was because it was morning and I was still sleepy and slightly drunk off of the depth with which I’d slept that I admitted such a truth. I swear Hendrix stopped breathing for a few seconds, his hard chest beneath me solid as a rock until I looked up at him.
But that smile he donned was wild but timid with a little less mischievous than normal as he looked down at me.
"Me too,” he said, and I didn't know if he meant me too like of course, it’s great waking up next to Hendrix fucking Malone or me too like I like waking up next to you as well.
Before I could analyze it, ruin it, make some sort of verbal confession that would surely ruin us both, I did the only logical thing I could do.
I dragged my fingers down his beautiful chest and lower, over the ridges of his abdomen until I found those soft cotton black boxer briefs containing one of my absolute favorite things about this cocky insufferable delightful, delicious man.
He hissed as I grabbed the hard length of him.
"I mean, if this is what I get in the morning,” I teased, "why haven't we been doing sleepovers every single night of our month?"
Hendrix half-laughed half-growled as I continued to stroke and tease him, going as far to hook my leg over his hip and slide on top of him. Positioning myself over the hard length of him.
He hissed, the heat from me not at all hidden by my thin pajama bottoms. I rocked atop him, grazing my fingertips over the smooth skin of his biceps, his chest. He arched up, and I gasped, warm shivers dancing along my skin.
"If that's what you want, Savannah," he said, his voice gravelly as he reached up and tunneled his fingers in my hair. "Then I'll give it to you."
His words were a declaration so solid and so tangible it plucked those strings of fear and doubt and terror at what my heart screamed for this man.
I rocked harder against him, needed more contact, more proof that this was nothing more than beautiful, physical bliss. Because the alternative? That warm, aching sensation in my chest? It was so beyond complicated it threatened to steal every piece of perfection beneath me.
I folded myself over him, bringing my lips to his with teasing light strokes until he broke and crushed his lips to mine.
I kissed him, over and over again, drinking him in and giving him exactly what he took and gave back. My heart raced as my mind spun, and I continued to touch and kiss and tease him until we were both so worked up that I trembled above him. We locked gazes, a solid moment of electricity sizzling along our skin as we froze in the delicious torture pulsing between us.