Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
My hands pulled at the button to my shorts as I held his gaze, a slight bend at the corners of his mouth signaling his pleasure at winning.
In his dreams …
“On your knees, Wylder.”
One of his thick, perfectly shaped brows lifted at my demand.
“Knees. Wylder.” I kept a poker face.
Being … him … he drew out the standoff for nearly a minute before taking one knee and then a second knee. My hands parked at my sides, refusing to do anything else. He slid down my shorts and panties, lifting my foot to free them from one leg. Instead of releasing my leg, he lifted it over his shoulder. My hands pressed flat to the door at my back to steady myself.
He wasn’t gentle or teasing.
“Fuuuck!” I sucked in a sharp breath and held it as his mouth attacked me. My fingers drove into his hair with the same force his tongue speared into me.
He bit my clit. I yelled.
I dug my nails into his scalp. He growled.
One of his hands kept my left leg spread open on his shoulder while his other hand gripped my ass.
He denied me again and again, brutally taking me to the edge then pulling back until I wanted to cry and kill him.
Oh the stars …
He may have been physically on his knees, but there was little question as to who surrendered … who had control.
My head fell back onto the door, jaw slack, eyes closed. He eased my leg from his shoulder, holding my hips for a few seconds until I found my balance. Then he worked my panties and shorts back up my legs. I could have helped him, but I didn’t. Wylder seemed to know what he was doing. And I … well, I was still drunk on the way he made me feel.
“Oops …” He grabbed my wrist to look at my watch as he stood. “Ten-oh-five. My bad. Please tell your dad it was my fault.”
I remembered Jessica’s words. “Sometimes our greatest strength is to know when to surrender.” Snarky, arrogant, sass-filled comebacks flooded my thoughts. He had one goal … to prove he had more influence over my actions than my dad.
Maybe that night he did, but I didn’t let him make it about my dad. Wylder told me something personal. Cookies? Yes. But sometimes the simple things defined us more than tangled webs of scars and bruises.
Instead of taking the bait, I slid my hands into the back pockets of his jeans and pressed my lips to his chest over his heart. “I like peanut butter cookies. Rolled in lots of sugar. And someday I’m going to be president. Unless I meet a nice, rich guy who buys me an island and lets me surf every day for the rest of my life. Night, Wylder.”
*
“He’s making it hard for me to like him,” Dad said from his bed when I eased open the hotel room door. The TV screen illuminated his tattooed chest from his propped-up position on his bed, and the residual aroma of microwave popcorn lingered in the air—the frigid hotel room air.
I didn’t need to see his face well to know displeasure marred it.
“Because I’m twenty-minutes late? Because you haven’t met him? Because I think he’s you in your twenties?” I plugged my phone in to charge and plopped down onto my bed. “Only less slutty, I hope.”
“Watch it.”
I giggled. “I like him. A lot.”
“He’ll break your heart.”
Scooting onto my side and bunching up the pillow to rest my head, I gazed at him while he swiveled his head toward me.
“Did you ever break Mom’s heart?”
Drawing in a slow breath, he released it in a deep whoosh of air.
“And for the record … I already know that you did. So don’t lie.” I didn’t know any more than just the fact that he did break her heart on more than one occasion.
“I kept some things from her. Told her half-truths. Stupid on my part.”
“But she forgave you. She found something good and redeemable in you.”
He grunted, shaking his head. “I’m not sure what. But … yes. She did.”
“So if she wouldn’t have put her heart out there for you to break, you wouldn’t have ended up together. I wouldn’t exist. And …” I bit my lips together.
And you wouldn’t be a lonely widower.
Sitting up, I moved over to his bed. Lifting his arm, I wedged myself under it. The safest place in the world. “I know you don’t regret it, but do you ever wonder why? Why did you fight so hard for something only to have it taken from you? Does the fragility of life ever scare you?”
“Only one thing scares me.”
I rested my cheek on his chest, snaking my arms around his torso as far as they would reach. “What’s that?”
“You.”
“Dad …” I whispered, feeling melancholy from our conversation.