Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“I have to keep things casual, Whit. Can’t you see that?”
“You’re frightened.” Beneath my fingers and my gaze, she freezes. “But frightened of what?” Last night was a lot, especially for the inexperienced. It was more than the collision of flesh, but I feel like there’s something she’s not saying. “Did I frighten you?” Did the strength of her own reactions catch her off guard?
“No, of course not. Please don’t try to complicate this.” Her breath hitches as her eyes take on the appearance of smoked glass. No, not tears summoned at will. This is genuine regret. I won’t get to the bottom of those fears right now, so what can I do but play along?
“I don’t like it,” I growl, taking her face in my hands.
“I don’t think you have to.” And I don’t think you’ll be going on any dates, I fail to add. Mainly because I’m not an idiot. “Please let’s not make things complicated.”
“Do I have to remind you that you pursued me? Doggedly.” At least she has the decency to lower her eyes at this. “I don’t like playing games, Amelia.”
“I’m not playing.” Her eyes are wet when they rise once again. “I’m just trying not to get hurt.”
If not you, someone else. The memory of her words are brought to life like the strike of a match, Connor’s voice echoing them. She’s too innocent for her own good. Make sure she doesn’t end up with some dick.
Innocent? Try a contradiction.
“Only I get to touch you,” I add with meaning, pushing the recollections away because it’s not about what her brother wanted. Not anymore. It’s about her. It’s about how much I want her. “Only I get to fuck you.”
I expect her to recoil or make some protest. Instead, she answers, “If you still want me.”
Another dark chuckle escapes my chest as a quote I’d read drifts through my head. Women are fickle. And men are idiots. I’m missing something. I just don’t know what.
“And kissing?” I take her hips in my hands, brushing my lips over hers, forcing her to give. To bend. “Who gets to kiss you?”
“Only you,” she whispers, her lips chasing mine until I sever the connection between us when I pull back. Her eyes seem suddenly so solemn, but maybe I only see what she wants me to see. “It takes courage to be vulnerable.” My hand seems to lift of its own accord, the backs of my fingers stroking down her neck.
“Are you talking about you or me?” A smile catches at the corner of her mouth. A second later, it’s gone.
“The strengths of reactions, of feelings can be frightening.”
“I know. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.” She shakes her head almost ruefully.
“That’s something, at least.”
“But I think you might be too much for me.” She angles her glance away.
“Amelia.” I say her name the way she likes to hear it. Part chastisement, part wonder. “You took me so, so well.” My hand ghosts down her front, snagging on the first of the fastened buttons before my finger and thumb make quick work of it.
“What are you doing?” she asks nervously.
“I would’ve thought that was obvious.” Another button, and again. “But in case it’s not, I’m about to remind you why you’ll only come for me.” Parting the sides of the shirt a little wider, I press my lips to the warm skin of her breastbone. “You can tell me to stop, and I will.”
My gaze lifts, her eyes turning languid, her hands trembling as they fold under the edge of the tabletop.
“Don’t stop. Please.”
With each button, a little more skin is exposed, my lips moving incrementally, tasting her dips and valleys, worshipping her body. The morning sun turns her hair golden, washing her skin in its rays as I drag the sides of my shirt over her hardening nipples.
“You look like you’re made of sunshine.” Her skin dappled by gold, her fine hairs on her arms shimmering.
“I feel kind of exposed.” Her eyes slide to the wall of windows behind me.
“No one can see you from up here,” I whisper, tightening my hands on the cotton to slide it across and back, letting her soak in my attentions. Revel in the sensations. Such secrets I could show her, layers of sensuality she could barely guess.
“No one but you.”
“As it should be. Your body is mine when it’s before me.”
The sound she makes is almost plaintive as I slide my hands under the shirt, curling them once more around her hips. My thumbs caress the protrusion of bones there. I want to bend her until she feels hollow. Until she’s weeping with need to be filled. I reach behind her, and drag a container of fruit closer. Selecting a wedge of mango, I lift it to my mouth. Bright orange and pulpy, the juice drips down my fingers.