Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
But he hasn’t moved.
And he’s still not wearing a shirt and now my mouth is watering…
That chest.
Those muscles.
The thick thighs.
Have I mentioned those?
Guh. Thick thighs are my literal weakness, the most underrated part of a guy’s body, in my professional opinion.
It takes him several seconds to look away from the TV. It’s not that he hasn’t noticed my presence, it’s that he hasn’t noticed I’m no longer wearing shorts—and I’m standing here in my thong.
Now what?
I close the door behind me on the off chance Miranda makes an appearance again, strolling into the bedroom casually as you please, as if I hadn’t just stripped down out of my shorts.
It’s easy to watch the play of expressions on his face. They go from neutral to ‘what the fuck is happening’ to ‘what the hell do I do?’ as I slowly stride up to where he’s sitting, needing to get past…
DIARY…
It’s Tess.
Do you think it’s weird that every time I write to you, I say Dear Diary? LOL
Since this is my book and I’m the only one who sees it?? I suspect that SOMEONE might have found this because I had it STRATEGICALLY placed on the shelf, positioned at an exact angle and it was moved slightly. So GRADY IF YOU’RE READING THIS I AM LITERALLY GOING TO KILL YOU HOW DARE YOU GO THROUGH MY PERSONAL PRIVATE THINGS. I cannot stress this enough, I will MURDER you.
I know mom would tell me not to choose violence but seriously, Grady, reading my diary??? I know the cleaning ladies weren’t even at the house today so it had to have been you.
Okay. Now that we have that business out of the way, something major happened and its not what you think—it’s worse. I repeat: positioned at an exact angle and it was moved slightly!!!!
Who can you trust if you can’t trust your own FAMILY.
#Betrayed
CHAPTER 22
DREW
YOUR NUDES ARE SAFE WITH ME.
What the fuck is happening…
Is it just me or is Tess half naked?
Ass cheeks out, tits right there, Tess is standing in front of me as if she has to get past, when all she’d have to do is flop down on the bed to claim her spot back.
I’m only at the edge of it because I had wanted to adjust the television set; it’s sitting atop the dresser but at an odd angle and I just thought...
I thought…
I…
Tess tries to skirt around me but somehow, my hands end up on her hips. To assist her? To stop her?
No idea.
Legs spread, I pull her close.
I must have had more alcohol than I realized or maybe she had more alcohol than she’d planned or maybe…
She bends her head. Leans in, pressing her pelvis against the apex of my spread thighs, tentatively kissing the tip of my nose. Featherlight kisses on my cheekbones.
My eyes briefly flutter closed, palms spread, running up and down her bare ass. It’s smooth and fits perfectly in my hands.
Tess Donahue.
Little Tess Donahue…
…is kissing me on the mouth and when I open mine to kiss her back, a jolt of electricity runs down the back of my spine. A totally unexpected jolt. It zaps my dick, too, and he comes to life. Twitches in these boxer shorts that aren’t mine so there’s barely room for him to grow, but somehow, he manages.
I open my mouth.
She opens hers.
Tongue.
So much slow tongue. I never knew I liked French kissing this much, and it spurns me on. My hands move north, traveling from her bare butt cheeks to her rib cage.
Tess has her hands on my shoulders. Those move, too, until they’re behind my head, nails lightly scratching the back of my neck as she kisses me.
I pull her closer, still.
Fingers flirting with the hem of her thin camisole or tank top or whatever this excuse for a shirt is, the fabric as silky as her skin, and I run my hands beneath it—tentatively at first.
It doesn’t take long for the tips of my fingers to brush the underside of her tits. Trail along her smooth flesh. Thumbs grazing.
Then my hands cover her tits.
They fill my palms perfectly, just as those few times I’d imagined what they look like, feel like, taste like. Damn, it’s been an age since I’ve felt boobs—and all the reasons I had tried to date with intention last year rushed back, sex being one of them.
Sex.
Affection.
Physical touch.
All the same thing, basically just marketed differently.
I groan when her nails scratch my scalp. Fuck, that feels good…
She groans when I pinch her nipple, and now I want to see what her boobs look like, reaching to lift the hem of her ‘barely there’ shirt over her head.
Damn.
The view does not disappoint and neither does the weight of her breasts in my hands.
For real.
Best tits ever.
Or am I buzzed?
Either way, she feels amazing pressed against me, letting me run my hands over her body though my palms are calloused from football and the gym.