Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Jonah brushes the wet hair from my cheek and leans forward as if he’s going to kiss me. I hold my breath in anticipation, wondering if I’ll like it. Instead of kissing my mouth, he kisses my forehead.
“Grab onto me,” he says. I hook my good arm around his neck, as he wraps his strong arms around me, lifting me like I weigh as much as a kitten.
It’s not until we pass the door to the guestroom that I realize he’s bringing me to his bedroom, full of his things. Where everything smells like him: men’s bar soap and the subtle spice of his cologne. The bed he sets me down on is enormous, fitted with dark-blue linens and a soft gray comforter that makes me want to roll around like a cat in the sun.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he says with a wink.
He disappears into the attached bath and returns a few seconds later with a big blue towel, which he wraps around my shoulders. I sit still and quiet as he rubs me up and down. My clit tingles. Every swipe of the towel is a reminder of all the ways I imagined Jonah touching me in the shower.
He kneels on the floor in front of me, and he’s so damn tall that we’re still practically eye level. The concern in his gaze makes me feel fragile and transparent like glass. But there’s something behind the worry that makes my heart beat faster. He begins drying my front body, starting with my face and working his way down.
I gasp as his hands cup my breasts over the terrycloth.
His expression doesn’t change. I can’t tell if he’s just trying to take care of me, or if he’s as turned on by the situation as I am. Why can’t it be both? Again, I’m struck by the image of myself in a frilly pink dress with Jonah’s hand up my skirt.
My nipples harden against his wide, calloused palms. It feels so good to be touched, so good that I almost start crying. I’ve never wanted anyone to touch me like this, and I can’t find the words to tell him not to stop. I inhale deeply, puffing out my chest, hoping he’ll get the message. His thumbs circle my nipples through the terrycloth.
“Does that feel nice?” he asks.
I nod. The tenderness in his gaze is quickly eclipsed by an intensity that makes my pussy throb.
“And this?” He squeezes gently. “How does this feel?”
“Good.” My breasts aren’t huge, and they feel even smaller in his hands, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his touch is too careful, like he’s afraid he’s going to break me.
Slowly, he works the towel down my chest and stomach. I hold my breath as he reaches my belly button, waiting for him to slide lower, between my legs. But he doesn’t. Instead, he dries my feet, one at a time, before working his way back up my calves.
I’m practically vibrating by the time he reaches my inner thighs.
“You’re an angel, Teagan,” he says. “My angel. That means, from now on, you never have to worry about feeling sad, or scared, or hungry.”
His words sink in. I can’t stop the tears from welling at the corners of my eyes. Earlier tonight, Jonah told me I was home, and as crazy as it sounds, I feel like he meant it. I’m so used to running. So used to being bumped from place to place that I don’t know how to stand still. Everything about Jonah feels solid and permanent.
Have I finally found something to hold onto?
“I didn’t think it was possible, but you look even more gorgeous on my bed.” He strokes my thighs through the towel and kisses my cheek, the ends of his long, dark hair tickling my shoulders. I let his big hands maneuver me like a doll, easing me back onto the bed.
I moan as he smooths the towel across my mound.
“You like the way that feels, angel?”
God, yes, I love it. I nod.
He applies more pressure with the heel of his hand. It feels incredible, but I want him to touch me without the towel between us. I buck my hips to encourage him. Jonah chuckles, and the sound is deep enough to qualify as a growl.
“My angel’s pussy is needy,” he says. I gasp as he centers the pressure over my clit. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”
My thoughts are a jumble. I can hardly remember my own name, let alone the exact words for what I need from him. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever said those kinds of things out loud. But he’s asking me to say them, so I’ll try. For him.
“You,” I whine softly.
“You want me to take good care of this sweet pussy?” He climbs onto the bed.