Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
So the only role men had needed to fill was, well, sexy, sweaty buddies.
I didn't need them for more than that.
So it never occurred to me to try to seek more than that from them.
Then Roderick had come along and had just... provided things. He did things. See, I never had anyone to ever do things for me, so I just did them. I never could have known how nice it would be to have someone else pick up the slack, do things so I didn't have to do them. Or to be taken care of.
And I certainly never could have anticipated the fact that having a man in bed with me could be the cure to my sleeplessness, my restlessness.
And maybe it wasn't just about any man.
Maybe it was about a man who I liked, respected, felt comfortable with, knew could understand me and my life, the stresses of it, the reasons behind my bad sleep.
Maybe the complete and utter relief at having someone around who got you and your situation, who wanted to be near you regardless was enough to let you let go of it all, forget all the bad stuff, let your mind rest, so your body could finally relax enough to get actual sleep.
The idea that he wouldn't be there anymore in a short period of time was enough to make my heart ache a bit. As asinine as that may have been.
There was a tap on the doorframe behind me, making me turn to find Roderick standing there.
I should have known better. He was not a 'let it drop' kind of person.
"Might make it easier to deal with if you actually admit it," he suggested, eyes piercing into me.
"Admit what?"
"That you like me," he told me, making my body jolt a bit with the impact of the truth.
"Fine. I like that I am able to sleep with you around."
"Nope," he said, moving inward, closing the door behind him. "Try again."
"Roderick..."
"Come on. It's not hard. Three words. You can do it," he went on, small smile pulling at his lips. But not a smirk, not something cocky or condescending. It was almost sweet. With each word, he moved closer to me, forcing me to slide back across the floor. I hated myself for retreating, but there felt like there was nothing else to do.
Until my knees and calves met the foot of my bed.
He didn't stop though. Not until our toes were nearly touching, until he was towering over me, until I had to angle my head up to keep eye contact.
"You can tell me," he encouraged.
"What's the use in it?" I challenged.
"Because you feel it. If you feel it, what's the use in keeping it in?" he asked, ducking his head a bit. "I like you, Livvy," he told me in a low rumble, making my belly - and somewhere else entirely - flutter deliciously.
On a strange, choked sound, my forehead met the soft material of his tee. "I like you back," I admitted, knowing it was pointless, knowing that this would all come to an inevitable end sooner rather than later.
"Was that so hard?" he asked, voice still soft as his hands landed at my lower back and moved slowly upward.
"Yes, actually," I told him, slapping his back.
"But now it's out. And you can't take it back," he informed me, one hand sneaking over my shoulder, up the side of my neck, finding my chin, snagging it with two fingers, gently pulling it upward. "And now I can finally do this again," he added just a second before his lips claimed mine, soft, explorative at first, then harder, needier with each passing second.
His hand framed my jaw, the other slid down to press hard into my lower back, forcing my body tightly against his. One of mine went up and around his neck, the other hand bunched up the waistband of his jeans at his hip, holding on.
It felt like forever, yet not nearly long enough, that we stood there before his body started to fold forward, force me to bend back until I was supported by nothing but his arm at my lower back before he lowered me down completely, my back hitting the mattress, his body pressing me deeper into it.
There was no more thinking about it. No more wondering if it was smart or not. If it was going to hurt when it was done.
There was just the moment.
The want.
The need.
The rightness of the feel of his weight on me, his lips on my lips, my neck, my ear.
His forearm planted to one side of my body, freeing his other to roam, sliding down the side of my breast, my ribs, sinking in a bit to the hollow of my hip before sneaking under my shirt, fingertips whispering up my belly, the touch so light that goosebumps rose in its wake.