Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“It was a compliment,” he said, holding me close. “You know I think you’re strong in every possible way. But I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“You didn’t.” I looped my arms around his waist and tucked my head beneath his chin. His body was warm and smelled sweaty, but it was a good sweat—hard-work-in-the-sunshine sweat.
“I never want to hurt you.” His voice was quiet but strong.
I closed my eyes. “You won’t.”
That afternoon, Austin texted me that Xander needed his help at the bar tearing out the old bathrooms and told me not to worry about making dinner—they were just going to grab sandwiches. He said he’d message me when he got home.
Since I had a little extra time, I walked down to the senior mixer, taught my dance class, and stayed around afterward chatting with some of people who’d attended. After arriving back at home, I made myself some boxed mac and cheese for dinner, but I ate it with a salad using veggies from the farmers’ market, so I figured it all evened out. When I was done eating, I cleaned up the kitchen and went back to my apartment.
Around ten p.m., I took a shower and got ready for bed. In the bathroom mirror, I examined the bruises he’d left on my hips, surprised to find myself aroused by them.
But maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe it made perfect sense that I would like wearing the evidence of Austin’s powerful desire for me, that they made me feel strong and sexy. Maybe it was part of reclaiming my body as my own—I could decide when pain felt good. I could decide that bruises were beautiful. I could decide to be a canvas for my own pleasure—and for his.
I checked my phone one last time before crawling into bed, trying not to feel disappointed that he hadn’t texted or called. A glance out the window told me his truck wasn’t in the driveway.
Get over it, I scolded myself. It’s just one night. It’s just sex. Okay, maybe it’s earth-shaking, mind-blowing, soul-shattering sex, but you went without it for twenty-nine years, so you can certainly handle going without it tonight.
But we only had three nights left. What was I going to do when our time was up and I had to go without it forever?
Don’t think about it.
I slammed my eyes shut, but I was still awake when I heard my phone vibrate. My hand shot out to grab it off the nightstand.
Hey. Sorry to text so late. Xander was fucking everything up and I had to fix things. You still awake?
Yes.
I’m getting in the shower. Want to keep me company?
Yes.
I’ll leave the back door open.
Okay.
Hurry.
I’ve been hard for you all day.
The shower was running when I slipped inside the bathroom, the marble tiles cool beneath my bare feet. The shower door was steamed up, but the blurry shape of him behind it made my breath come faster. Eagerly, I stripped off my clothes.
He pushed the door open, and my heart careened at the sight of him—wet and muscular and, as promised, already hard.
“Hi,” I said breathlessly.
“Hi, baby.” He looked me over head to toe, then studied my hips. “Are those marks from me?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.” His hands skimmed over them. “Do they hurt?”
“No.”
His dark eyes smoldered. “Will you think I’m a dick if I tell you I like the way they look?”
I shook my head. “Will you think I’m crazy if I ask for more?”
“I think you’re fucking perfect.” Wrapping his arms around me, he sealed his mouth to mine as the hot water streamed down our bodies. His hands roamed freely, gliding easily over my wet skin, while his tongue stroked mine with possessive fervor. I worked my hands up and down the solid length of his erection as the steam rose around us.
He turned me to face the wall and pressed up tightly behind me, reaching between my legs with one hand and covering my breast with the other. I braced my hands on the tiles, which were rectangular, charcoal gray, and laid in a herringbone pattern. It was so cool, I was momentarily distracted. “Wow, this shower is gorgeous. Did you remodel this bathroom yourself?”
“Yes.”
“I love it.”
He slipped a finger inside me. “Can we please talk about that later?”
“Sorry—yes.” But god, it turned me on that he was so talented. So good with his hands.
His lips moved down the side of my throat as his fingers rubbed my clit. He sucked hard on the spot where my neck sloped toward my shoulder. “I want to leave a mark right here,” he told me, his voice low and gravelly.
“Yes,” I whispered, even though I knew it would be visible in most of my tops. “I want it where I can see it.”
With his mouth and tongue working on my neck, he used his hands to deliver an orgasm that turned my bones to jelly. His name was still echoing off the tiles when he turned me to face him. He fisted his cock with one hand while he pinned me back against the wall with his other hand on my throat, his thumb stroking the bruise he’d left with his mouth.