Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
I rotate back to the window, and music begins to play. Country, I realize, which feels weirdly right in Hawaii, but unexpected from Ethan, though I don’t know why. I don’t even know where he lives. I know nothing about him, but we’re not uneven in this. The man doesn’t even know my name. The music shifts from Luke Combs’ “Cold as You” to Morgan Wallen’s “Thought You Should Know,” which is about his mother and missing her. I’m instantly gutted—a stabbing sensation in my belly.
I thought you should know
That all those prayers you thought you wasted on me
Must've finally made their way on through
She’ll never know, I think, but I have to believe she’s watching from above.
Ethan rejoins me, two glasses of wine in his hands, and a drink is no longer the escape I need or want. My mood has shifted. I am emboldened now in my quest for a one-night escape and in my need for him, just him. I want to be all in, so, apart from him and this night, there’s nothing else. It’s why I’m here, but I’ve yet to show him I’m all in. “Thank you, but I don’t want the drink,” I say. “Can you—put them somewhere?”
I might be emboldened, but my nerves are not convinced. I’m shaking inside, but I am also alive in a way I do not remember ever feeling. A zip of those emotions runs through me as he sets the drinks by the window. When he straightens, we just stand there staring at each other, the words of the song bouncing between us, and there are shadows in his eyes I didn’t notice before now. I’m surprised at what I missed about this man, who is a stranger, but familiar in a few ways. Loss. Pain. He is perfect on the outside—handsome, successful, confident—but if he allows you a glimpse of what’s beneath the surface, as he just did me, he is flawed like the rest of us, like me. He is tormented. He feels alone, too. And that realization changes everything. He doesn’t just want me. He needs me tonight, just as I need him.
For just this one night.
I step toward him, and he meets me halfway, catching me to him again, and I am desperate to stop thinking and start feeling. I push to my toes, my breasts molded to his chest, offering him my mouth, shocking even myself as I say, “Fuck me, please.” It’s the most daring thing I’ve ever said to a man, and I can feel the heat climbing my neck, but tonight is the night of no regrets. And I feel none.
He eases back and studies me, as if he’s seeing me in an entirely new light, and before my easily stirred insecurity kicks in, I press my lips to his. He doesn’t instantly respond, and my heart is racing in my chest, second thoughts dancing in my mind. But then, a low, sexy, guttural sound slides from his lips, and his mouth crashes down on mine.
And what follows is a kiss that burns me alive, and we’re only just getting started.
He is like no man I’ve ever known. But then, I’m not the me I know tonight, either, and I crave things right now, with this man, I don’t even understand.
But I want to.
Chapter Eleven
Ethan’s tongue dances wickedly against mine, while his hand molds me closer, his hips settling intimately against my hips, and I can feel the thick ridge of his erection against my belly. Instead of hesitation, or second thoughts, my fingers splay over his hard, warm chest where his muscles flex, and more muscle awaits my touch. There is no question, the sweet numbing effect of the whiskey is all about my mind, not my body, as my body hums with the feel of this man everywhere I can feel him, and everywhere I want him.
This is the escape I didn’t know I needed, but I secretly craved.
My tongue tangles with his tongue, meeting every stroke with one of my own, leaving him no question that I’m all in now. There are no more second thoughts. There will be no regrets. As out of character as the boldness of coming here, my hand travels lower, until it’s between us, and pressed to the front of his pants. My fingers exploring his erection.
He surprises me then, tearing his mouth from mine and catching my wrist, staring down at me with eyes I now realize are a shade of blue—deep, rich navy blue, with a glint now of honey-gold and accusation. It’s a strange reaction to me touching him, but I have this sense that it’s about control—his, not mine—but perhaps illogically, I am not intimidated. “You don’t want me to touch you?”
For several heavy beats, he holds me there. My heart thunders in my chest, and I can feel the pulse of anticipation in my belly. Then suddenly, he steps into me, removing the small space between our bodies we’ve somehow created, and my hands and arms end up nestled snugly between us. It places me in a vulnerable position some might fear, but the burn in my belly and the clench of my sex is all about how hot his dominant actions make me.