Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I find myself getting up and thinking about what she just said about fucking it, even though I know it’s a bad idea. I know I should turn around and leave. Maybe I could if it wasn’t for the dreams last night. If she wasn’t so beautiful. And if the sparkle in her eyes wasn’t so inviting because, right now, she wants this to happen. Because she was bold and made the first move and put it all out there. Metaphorically and literally. Also, there’s the fact that this isn’t the first time she hasn’t worn a bra underneath her shirt. She has showered here, slept in my bed, worn my clothes, and been her general lovely self, and I’m a man, so I’ve noticed.
“I’m lonely,” she says levelly. “We both are. This isn’t forever. It’s just for a moment, and we can still look each other in the face after. This isn’t friends with benefits. It’s just…it’s just dessert.”
I need her to stop talking, or I’m going to say something I shouldn’t say, like how much I want dessert and how sweet a dessert she would be—the best of desserts, the queen of desserts, the ultimate dessert. Instead, I’ll say something about being an adult and going on with life and that being lonely makes a person irrational, and we shouldn’t.
It’s dangerous—talking, I mean. For her. For me.
The way her pupils are dark and dilated is even more dangerous. The heat that sparks to life in the room, the current in the air, and the magnetic force that speaks to the most primal parts of me…all dangerous.
I should walk right out of here, but instead, I cross the kitchen and take Nina’s hand. Her palms are soft and warm, her skin giving off an electric charge that courses through my arms and into the pit of my belly. I glide my palm up her arm, and she shivers at my touch, her eyes getting darker. She inhales quickly, a little gasp of air. I keep my eyes on her face. The danger is too raw and real to look anywhere else. I notice the way her pulse is thrumming at the side of her jaw. I want to put my fingers over it, but instead, I bend and put my lips there.
I’ve never tasted anything as sweet as her skin. She’s better than a thousand cheesecakes.
“Thaddius,” she groans. Her hands cup my face and jerk my head up, and her lips don’t just find mine. They crash against them the way that storm broke over the farm yesterday. But this time, the downpour isn’t rain. It’s desire. And I can’t stop myself from hauling her up against me until her curves are molded to the length of my body. She whimpers, parting her legs around mine, her hips bumping up against my dick.
I growl into her mouth, a caveman sound, but I’m past caring. Her lips part, and I lick her there, taking my time. God, she’s sweet. Sugar, honey, and wine. Her tongue and mine.
She pulls me back into her until I’m basically squishing her against the counter, but with the way she rocks between the counter and me, it’s obvious that it’s what she wants. Her tongue glides with mine as her hands leave my face, one exploring a sensual path along my jaw, the other creating a trail of sparks as she buries her fingers in my hair.
I kiss her deeper, angling her head back, tasting her tongue, and glorying in the soft mewls she makes.
I’m afraid to touch her wherever she doesn’t have clothes on, but she doesn’t have the same fears. Her hands are now dipping under my T-shirt, pushing it up and trailing over the bare skin of my abs.
I want to touch her. I need to touch her.
I grasp her hips instead, keeping my fingers securely on the denim covering them. I want her out of these jeans. I want her up on that counter with her legs spread around my shoulders and my tongue buried in her soaking wet heat.
Her hands join mine, but they aren’t tentative. She undoes her jeans and slides the zipper down. Her fingers flutter against mine, guiding them to slide her jeans down. I feel like my head is going to explode. It’s not just my brain; it’s the air around us. The whole place just became combustible. I feel like it’s been combustible ever since this woman walked up to my place—all dusty and covered with road dirt, tired and worse for wear, and yet still all sunshine and rainbows—and into my life.
I tug her jeans down, and she kicks them aside. I barely have time to run my hands up her legs before my body is on autopilot, lifting her onto the counter. She’s wearing peach-colored panties. A pale, pale orange, not lace. Just cotton. Probably a pair from that package of granny underwear she got at the pharmacy. There’s a dark stain where she’s soaking wet already, and fuck me. I’ve never seen anything hotter in my life.