Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Yes, I still have LEGOs—get off my nuts about it.
“Should I close my eyes for this?” Ryann laughs, teasing.
“If you want to close your eyes, go right ahead, but this won’t hurt a bit.”
Ryann drags her hand off my thigh, and the spot is immediately replaced by cold; I can’t decide if I should put my hands on her face or just lean in, kiss her on the cheek, and be done with it.
Or.
Maybe I take it slow?
Maybe I take my time and see how she reacts.
Maybe I…
“Dear God, how long is this going to take?” She sulks testily, voice betraying her nerves. “Are you going to stare at me all night or do the thing?”
Stare at her all night?
So dramatic.
Ryann fidgets on the bed, anxious.
“I’m going to do the thing. Be patient.”
Such a brat, but those lips…
Lips I can’t kiss. Them’s the rules, and I didn’t make them. If I kiss her on her mouth, she’ll freak.
Somewhere other than the mouth. Now, where would that be?
My eyes do a once-over, gliding over the side of her neck, her collarbone. Down the fitted T-shirt over her breasts. Maybe I kiss those?
Nah, too soon.
Her jawline? Her bare stomach?
Trying not to appear too eager, I lean forward to focus on her neck. Run my nose along her jawline from her chin to the space below her earlobe, inhaling the smell of her along the way. Fucking great, that’s how she smells, and I begin peppering kisses as I make my way back down the way I came.
Trail my nose down the side of her neck.
Ryann’s breath quickens.
Her skin is warm and sweet, and she gets goose bumps when I kiss the exposed skin along the T-shirt neckline.
Next, I press my lips to the indent at the corner of her mouth, one side, then the other.
So soft.
Unable to stop myself, I press my lips against hers, because honestly, it feels like the next logical step.
Ryann
One second Dallas is dropping delicate kisses along my jawline, the next our lips are pressed together and his tongue is in my mouth.
One large palm settles itself on my neck, thumb stroking my cheek.
Then his lips are on mine, though they’re not supposed to be, warm and supple and pressing into mine softly.
Dallas hovers over me as I lie back on the pillow, letting him kiss me, parting my lips so his tongue can slip inside. Cautiously, it explores, mingling with mine.
Everything about it is tentative and slow, unlike the kisses that came before it.
No one has ever kissed me like this before.
Not that I can recall. None of them stand out as remarkable.
Damn shame that Dallas Colter isn’t in the market for a girlfriend because now that I’ve spent a little bit of time with him, my mind is going to that place.
The daydreaming, woolgathering, touch-myself-when-he’s-not-around place.
His T-shirt is not made out of boyfriend material.
I’d be smart to remember that.
That doesn’t mean I can’t love the way his lips feel or like the way his body heat warms me from the inside—does it?
No, ma’am, it does not…
And so, I relish Dallas’s hand on my hip as he kisses me, his large body moving so he’s between my legs, erection pressed into my pelvis. Silently, I will his palm to roam higher, to cup my breast or sneak beneath my shirt.
Alas, he does not.
He doesn’t grind on me or try to remove any clothes, his or mine.
I tamp down my restlessness, pulling my mouth from his. End the kiss so it doesn’t go too far or fill me with hope I have no right to feel. I don’t want to wake up in the morning and have to convince myself the kiss was nothing, so I won’t let it turn into something.
“Truth or dare,” I whisper breathlessly.
Dallas does as predicted and pulls back, moving off me and rolling back to his side of the bed.
“Truth.”
He has no card, but there is a question brewing in my brain that begs to be let out.
“Are you a commitment-phobe?”
He rolls so he’s lying on his back now, looking at the ceiling. “No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”
I shrug, nibbling my bottom lip. “You just give me commitment-phobe vibes, that’s all. Like you have a problem with relationships in general.”
“What makes you say that?”
Yeah, what is making me say that? And why do I care?
Dallas Colter is not my problem, but I did say I wanted to help him using the lessons my parents taught me about relationships, communication being the big one.
“It just seems like…if you were in a relationship, you would have no give and no compromising.”
He fluffs his pillow, leaning into it again once he’s satisfied. “I say what I mean and mean what I say. Is that what makes you think I have no give and no compromise?”