Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
With the same tug he did on my wrist thirty minutes ago, he pulls me into his body, curls his hand around my jaw, then kisses the living hell out of me.
I’m not talking a warm, heartfelt kiss.
I’m talking a messy, fumbling embrace that makes every kiss before it seem inconsequential. A kiss that should be a part of every love story whether it occurs at the beginning, in the middle, or at the end.
It is a kiss that ends all kisses, and it reels me straight back in.
“You’re an asshole, Caleb Henslee,” I murmur against his lips before spearing my tongue between them.
He samples my mouth with long, uncontrolled strokes long enough for my panties to be drenched through before he eventually replies, “Never denied it, Jessie.”
I don’t realize he’s walked us into our building until Lou’s grumbled comment reaches my ears, “At least you’re taking it inside this time around.”
I should be embarrassed he knows about our public romp three years ago, but since years of pent-up frustrations are on the brink of being taken care of, all I am is horny.
Caleb kisses me the entire time he climbs the stairs. His lips only move away when he searches for the key to my front door in my purse, but once we’re inside, his attention reverts straight back to my mouth.
“At the side,” I talk over his kiss-swollen mouth when his hunt for the fastener on my dress steals his focus from my lips.
His prickles tickle my neck when he adjusts my position so he can carry me with one hand while the other slides down the hidden zipper in my dress. I stumble when he places me on my feet at the foot of my bed. Not because I’m drunk but because lust makes my head woozy.
Caleb peers up at me with bright, glistening eyes when he crouches in front of me to guide my bunched dress over my stilettos. Once he has it dumped on the floor next to him, he undoes the buckles on my shoes and carefully slips them off.
This is the first time he’s been so attentive. Years ago, we fucked, and very rarely was it in an appropriate location.
When he stands, I lick my lips before raising my eyes from his extended crotch to his face. He’s hard, and the imprint of his cock in his trousers settles any worry attempting to surface in my head that he’s thinking about anyone but me.
His voice is groggy with lust when he nudges his head to the bed and mutters, “Under the sheets, Jessie, and don’t make me ask you twice.” I don’t speak a word so he must read my shocked expression. “You’re drunk. No matter how badly I want you, I can’t touch you when you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk—”
He interrupts me by squashing his thick finger to my lip. “Bed. Now.”
With determination his strongest attribute, I pout like a child before muttering, “You suck.”
My drooped lip tugs into a grin when he mumbles, “After your piss-poor performance tonight, I wouldn’t be the one sucking if your drunk ass was sober.” His words are so low I doubt I was meant to hear them.
He probably also believes I’m too drunk to remember our exchange in the morning. I should tell him drunkenitis has never been an issue for me, but where’s the fun in that?
Caleb drags his eyes away from my exposed booty since my panties are a thong when I slip under the bedsheet, then he tucks me in as if I am a burrito.
“Do you need a bucket?” he asks, his tone sincere.
I regret my decision to answer with a headshake when my stomach swirls in response.
I’ve barely rolled onto my side with a groan when Caleb places the empty bin from the bathroom at the side of my bed before he heads for the door. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be in the living room.”
“You’re staying?”
He stops, cranks his neck back to look at me, then dips his chin. I realize the words I threw out in anger hurt him when he mutters, “I don’t want to give you another reason to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Caleb.”
My heart surfaces from the black tar his pained words sunk in when he replies, “I know. But I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I haven’t been likable in a very long time.”
Incapable of ignoring the pain in his eyes, I kick off the bedding then crawl across the mattress until I’m kneeling in front of him. “Stay with me.”
He brushes the back of his hand down my inflamed cheek before turning it over so I can rest my tired head in his palm. “I already said I’d stay.”
“Not out there. In here… with me.”
“Jess…” His voice sounds pained, but it isn’t the same hurt his eyes are holding. He’s torn because he knows the right thing to do is walk away, but he doesn’t want to do that.