Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
I have to. I have to. I have to.
With that thought running in my head on a loop, I scream out his name. And I keep doing it and doing it until I’m enveloped in warmth.
And strength.
That’s when I’m jerked awake and I realize that it was a dream.
No, a nightmare.
I was having a nightmare and I’m shaking and shivering and crying. And I can’t stop even though I want to.
Even though I think… I think there’s someone else who wants me to as well.
Someone who’s making shushing noises, deep soothing hums.
Not to mention, I’m clinging on to the warmest and the strongest pair of arms. That are attached to the warmest and the strongest pair of shoulders and chest.
They smell like my two favorite things: leather and cigar smoke.
And I’m staring at a dusky patch of skin.
At the base of a throat.
His throat.
“Alaric?” I say into his throat, my heart pounding.
I feel my body being squeezed. “Here.”
Jerking back, I look up at him. “You’re…” I swallow, my sleepy vision slowly coming into focus “You’re here.”
His eyes are dark and shiny as he stares down at me. “Yeah. And you’re okay. You were just having a nightmare.”
I realize I’m clutching his shirt in my fists.
I also realize that I’m wrapped around him.
I’m not sure how that happened. But we’re on my bed and I’m sitting on his lap, my thighs circled around his hips and my body pressed close.
But it isn’t close enough for me.
I want to be closer.
So I squirm and shift — and holy God, his thighs are fucking built; his thighs are all hard and muscular and freaking cut —until I’m really plastered against him.
Until all my curves are flattened and molded against his rock-hard chest and ridged torso.
When I’ve situated myself the way I like, I press my palms on his scruffy jaw and look into his eyes, whispering, “I couldn’t find you.”
“What?”
“In my nightmare,” I tell him, hiccupping, the tips of my fingers digging into his face. “I couldn’t… I thought something happened to you. I thought you were in danger and so I looked and looked everywhere. At St. Mary’s and here and… and in the woods behind the mansion. But I couldn’t… And I was so scared, Alaric. I was…”
A sob escapes me without volition and I feel my body being squeezed once more.
Before I can understand how that’s happening — the squeezing of my body — he speaks in a gravelly voice. “I’m fine. I’m here, all right. I’m right here. There’s no need for you to be scared.”
“You’re fine,” I whisper, tracing his high cheekbones with my fingers.
“Yes.”
“And you’re here.”
“I am.”
He is.
He is here. I don’t know how he’s here but he is.
He’s not in any danger or lying somewhere in a ditch, broken and bloody.
He’s whole and warm and alive and I’m wrapped around him. I’m touching him. I’m looking at him.
His dark, rich hair that looks messy for once, rumpled and spiked, a few strands falling on his forehead. His jaw’s scruffy, scruffier than ever, and for some reason, his skin looks even more dusky than usual.
As if sleep colors him at night and leaves him looking even darker and more delicious.
Flushed and heated.
Finally, I sigh. Finally, I let all the tension go from my body and give him a small, tentative smile.
It makes his jaw clench for a second, watching my lips pull up slightly.
I tighten my hold around him. “Did I wake you?”
He lifts his eyes. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
My fingers make circles around the side of his mouth. “What were you doing?”
I feel my body being squeezed again. “Working.”
My fingers leave his face and go back, sinking themselves into his rich, soft hair. “You work too much.”
I feel my own hair being tugged, making me wonder why. “I work just enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I’m —”
I lean in then and smell the triangle of his throat, cutting him off.
It’s something that I’ve been wanting to do ever since I saw that patch of skin in his office a few days ago.
And now that he’s here, I couldn’t stop myself from giving in and I was right.
I was so fucking right.
His scent is thicker here.
Thicker and headier and I have to open my mouth to take it in.
Leather and cigar smoke.
With a hint of cherries.
That’s new though and I wonder if I can lick it too. I wonder if I could take a bite out of it, his throat. Just to see if it tastes the same as it smells.
I feel my body being squeezed again, followed by a tug in my hair before I hear his growled question, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Taking a big whiff of his throat, I look up. “Smelling you.”
His brows are drawn together as he looks down at me. “Smelling me.”
I probably should be more embarrassed at this.