Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Tears pool in my eyes, and his hold on me tightens.
“It’s my fault she took that as you needing more than I was, but I can promise you, Sweets, she sees the truth now.” He grips my face. “It’s not that you need more. It’s how you deserve so fucking much more than I could ever give. It’s that my life might not be the one you want to live.”
“You’re giving me too much credit,” I whisper. “I’m just a girl.”
“A perfect one.”
My ribs constrict. “Perfect for who?”
His eyes move between mine, flicking to my lips as he presses his own tight.
“Me, Sweets.” His words are so low, so, dare I say, fearful, it’s agonizing. His gaze flies to mine. “Perfect for me.”
There’s a but in there that stings me to my core, so I wait for it, and it comes quick.
“But I will never be perfect for you.”
You already are, I want to whisper, but it’s easy to see there will be no convincing him anytime soon.
I glide my hands up his chest, across his shoulders, and his eyes close when my fingers graze his neck, sliding into the sharply faded sides. Pushing onto my tiptoes, I bring my lips as close to his as I can get them, the heat of my breath causing his eyes to snap open.
“So don’t be perfect for me,” I murmur. “Be good to me.”
The hold on my back grows more possessive by the second, and I welcome the sting of his fingertips, waiting for his resolve to snap.
Please snap.
“Take what’s yours, Crew…”
Take me.
A deep rumble works its way up his chest, and he dips down, catching my bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. He scrapes along the soft skin, releasing with a slight nip.
Wild and wicked, he looks at me.
“What’s mine, Sweets?” His hand lowers on my back, squeezing my ass in his tight grip. “This?” His other hand finds my breast, fisting tight around it and making me gasp. “These?”
He spins us, my back hitting the wall with a soft thud, as his palm glides down, lower and lower, until he’s cupping me over my sleep shorts. “This?”
I take the hand he’s pressed to the wall beside me, dipping my head to the side as I trail his fingers over my own neck, down my collarbone and across my chest, pausing right over the wild beat of my heart.
This.
I don’t say it, but I don’t think I have to.
I told him I loved him, and now I want to show him how much, even if I don’t really know how.
He swoops down, slamming his mouth to mine, his tongue forcing its way inside before I have a chance to open for him. Gripping him tight, I leap, wrapping my legs around his body and he hoists me higher, my ankles locking above his ass.
He grinds into me, his hardness pressing against my sweet spot and making me whimper with need. I fight for more friction, rolling my hips with pure abandon as I try to climb him like my favorite tree.
He’s my favorite everything.
Crew groans, and I tug on the hem of his shirt, lifting it. He hesitates, but only for a split second before allowing me to pull it from his body. My eyes stay on his. The sheer heat of his skin has me shivering as my hands trail and learn each dip of his muscles as they flex beneath my touch. But as I slide them down his pecs, my fingers brush along a patch of raised skin.
His gaze seems to burn a little deeper, and it takes effort to lower mine.
My brows pull, flicking along his collarbone and chest, down to his abs. At least a dozen nicks litter his skin, all different shapes and sizes, some protruding, others flat, but discolored.
One even hidden near the tattoo coloring his left pec.
“Scars…” I whisper, tracing one and then another. “From fighting?”
A ghost of a smirk pulls at his lips. “From winning.”
An airy chuckle escapes me, and I lean forward, pressing my mouth against the highest one, curved along the lower edge of his collarbone, nearly dead center.
Crew groans, lifting my mouth to his.
He presses against me then, using the strength of his torso to hold me up, so his hands can roam free.
He tugs the small band from my hair, and it falls around us, his fingers immediately diving in and wrapping the short strands around his fist. He yanks, and a sharp breath escapes me, my head flying back as his mouth clamps over my throat. Sucking. Nipping.
“Fuck,” he pants, his voice gruff, his hand shaking. “I’m trying to be gentle with you when I want to tear you apart.”
“I don’t need gentle.”
“You deserve—”
Now it’s me who yanks his hair, forcing him to look at me.