Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
I keep one hand in her hair, plant a knee on the bed, and lean down over her.
I swear to myself I’ll just drop a chaste kiss on her forehead. That’s all.
But when my lips touch her warm skin, I have to keep going.
I move slowly, brushing my lips across her skin. It can’t even be called a kiss, I’m just making contact. Her forehead, her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.
Her breath rushes out and burns against my skin when my lips touch her mouth. I let my tongue dart out just to steal a little taste of her lips, and I want to kiss her so fucking bad.
If I kiss her, I won’t be able to stop there. I’ll have to touch her—more of her than I already am. I’ll have to palm her breasts and touch her belly, and then she’ll gasp and writhe and I’ll have to touch more of her. Then my hand will be between her thighs and her maddening little sounds of pleasure will get under my skin, and I won’t stop. I won’t stop until my cock is buried deep inside her and…
I have to stop.
I have to go.
I pull back just enough to meet her gaze. See her big brown eyes shining with a potent mix of vulnerability and desire.
She wants it, too, but she’s lost in the moment, just like I am.
There’s too much I don’t know about things between her and Jet, and things are already bad between her and her mom. There are things I don’t even know about her level of experience, things I would need to know before I could take things that far.
I can’t do it.
Not tonight.
I want to. I fucking want to.
But I won’t.
“Goodnight, Kennedy.”
A soft breath escapes her as I pull back and move my knee off the mattress. I don’t wait for her to speak. I need to get out of this room before I lose my slippery hold on my convictions and fuck her senseless despite my best intentions.
It wouldn’t take much at this point. My self-control is on a short leash.
Then I get to the door, and when I put my hand on the light switch, I hear her call out.
“Goodnight, Mr. Granville.”
That goddamn name.
It feels like a taunt.
She wants me to turn around and ruin both our lives as much as I want to do it.
But of course she does.
She’s 18 years old.
I have to have enough sense for both of us right now, so without giving in to my baser urges, I turn out the light and head for the couch.
Chapter seven
Kennedy
I linger in bed longer than I typically would this morning. Partially because Milo’s king bed is so comfortable, but mostly just because I am lying in Milo Granville’s bed.
Somehow, this is more surreal than when he was kneeling on the floor, eating me out in my mom’s bedroom. That’s sex, and I doubt sex is sacred to him at this point. But this, letting me sleep in his bed… it’s something almost nobody gets to do.
But here I am.
There’s another reason I laze in his bed longer than I need to, one I’m more reluctant to admit.
If I stay up here long enough, maybe he’ll come and get me. Maybe we’ll get a quiet moment just the two of us before we head downstairs and… and what? Will we have breakfast with the guys like some big, happy family?
The thought appeals to me more than it should. That’s stupid, so I brush it off and force myself to be realistic. Yeah, he’s attracted to me. Yes, he would like to put his dick in my various orifices.
That does not mean he wants me to be remotely part of his family, and letting even a stray thought like that flit through my head is just asking for heartache.
Last night was nice, sure, but lazing in bed is clearly melting my brain, so I make myself get up and head to the bathroom so I can pee and brush my teeth.
As soon as I enter the bathroom, I catch sight of my own reflection in the mirror. My hair is a frizzy mess from being slept on all night, but that’s not the part that snags most of my attention.
It’s the sight of me in Milo’s T-shirt that does it.
I shake it off, tear my gaze away, and glance at his side of the sink. It looks exactly as it did last night, but when I catch sight of the shower behind me reflected in the mirror, it looks… wet.
It seemed like he thought about taking a shower last night before I brushed my teeth, but things escalated, he got distracted—no shower was taken.
Turning to investigate now, though, I can see that the shower is definitely wet.