Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I eased two fingers inside her and instantly felt her muscles clench around them. I pressed deep, twisting my wrist to find exactly the right angle and pressure, never letting up with my mouth. I knew I’d found the spot when her insides clamped even tighter, she cried my name and stopped moving except for the flutter of her clit against my tongue and the rhythmic spasms of her core on my fingers. The moment the tremors dissipated, I flipped her onto her back and thrust inside her, my cock aching for another release.
She was hot and soaking wet, and I drove my hips above hers with a hard, pounding motion while she grabbed my ass and bucked up beneath me. I came fast, and so did she, my body going plank stiff above hers as we shared the simultaneous, pulsing joy of release.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh. My. God.”
“Sorry.” I knew my weight must be crushing her and tried to lift my chest, but she pulled me to her again.
“Don’t go.” She buried her face in my neck and kissed my throat. “Don’t go yet.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I adjusted our position, rolling to my side and taking her with me. “There. Now I won’t smother you.”
She kept one leg slung over my hip, and curled one arm beneath her head. Her other hand slid over my shoulder. “Smothered by the Navy SEAL. I’m pretty sure I read that book. It was hot.”
I laughed, propping my head in my hand. “You read books about Navy SEALs?”
“I read all kinds of books. But I admit, I have a thing for military heroes.”
“Oh yeah? Was your dad in the military or something?”
She frowned at me. “You just ruined it.”
I grinned. “Navy?”
“Marines.”
I nodded slowly. “Hmph. I guess they’re okay.”
She laughed. “You’d like him.”
“I doubt he’d like me.”
“Why not?”
“How old is your dad?”
“Fifty-six.”
Fuck. Her dad was less than ten years older than I was. And she was closer to my son’s age than mine. “There you go.”
“Listen, my stepmom is ten years younger than my dad, so he would not have room to judge us.”
“There’s more than just our age difference to judge,” I pointed out.
She sighed, her smile disappearing. “True.”
I tipped up her chin. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“I think if I didn’t feel bad, something would be wrong with me. Don’t you feel bad?”
“Let’s talk about something else,” I said.
“Okay.” She focused her attention on my tattoos. “Can I ask about them now?”
“Sure.”
“Which one did you get first?”
“The one on my chest with the skull.”
Her hand moved over it, like she was smoothing its rough edges.
“And which one is your most recent?”
“The bone frog.”
She traced the bones inked on my shoulder with one fingertip. “What does it mean?”
“It’s a way to honor a SEAL lost in the line of duty.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “A friend?”
“Yes. Someone on my team. A mission didn’t go as planned.”
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes met mine. “Was it hard? The things you did?”
“I guess so. But we were trained well.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yeah.”
She ran her fingertips down my arm, following them with her eyes. “What made you leave?”
“I was wounded on that same mission. Took some machine gun fire to my right arm.” I rotated my shoulder so she could see the scar, although it was camouflaged pretty well by tattoos.
She gasped and hugged my right forearm to her chest, as if it had just happened.
“It’s fine. I had a few surgeries and it healed better than expected. I lost some range of motion, that’s all. It could have been a lot worse.”
She kissed my knuckles. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks.”
“So which tattoo is your favorite?” she asked.
I thought for a moment, then decided to be honest, even if it meant opening a wound. “This one.” I rolled to my back so she could see the angel wings on my left ribcage and the words little sister beneath them.
She studied the ink for a moment, then touched it gingerly. “You have a little sister?”
“I did,” I said quietly. “We lost her when she was three.”
“Oh, Zach. I’m so sorry.” Her voice caught. “What happened?”
“She drowned in a lake near our house. It was an accident.”
“How old were you?”
“Seven.”
“God, that’s so tragic. It must have been terrible for you. And for your parents.”
“It was.”
She kissed my chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get into sad things. And I know you don’t like talking about yourself.”
“It’s okay.” I put a hand behind my head and changed the subject. “Have you ever wanted a tattoo?”
“I’ve thought about it. I just never made up my mind about what I wanted. Now it’s probably too late.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. I’m kind of old to get my first tattoo, aren’t I?”
“Not at all. In fact, I think the older you are, the more likely you are to choose something meaningful. And you only live once, you know?”