Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
I feel my arousal pulsing and twitching as she wiggles and slides down off the table. My cock falls out of her and lands against my thigh. “I want to haul you off to bed and keep you there all day. Tie you up with my belt and make you a slave to my dick,” I whisper hungrily…
“I feel like I already am,” she giggles. And then I catch a frown darting across her face. I quickly grab her wrists, halting her. “Hey, tell me what's on your mind—and give me your eyes when you do it.”
Her big round eyes finally pause on mine, and she confesses, “We didn't even use protection. I feel like the poster child for an after-school movie.”
“Stop it…” I cup her cheeks. “Don't talk about my wife like that.”
“Not yet—”
“I don't care if you have my name yet or not—you're mine, and I won't have you feeling that way about yourself. The truth is, if we made a baby tonight, I’d be the happiest damn man on this mountain. I can’t imagine anything greater than making a baby with you, Sarah.” I cup her chin, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. “You already take care of Bear and me, and those kids at your school–you were born to be a mother.”
She nods, her eyes slowly glimmering back to life. I catch her smile lighting up my kitchen, and my heart swells just a fraction.
I have her. Sarah is mine.
Please don’t let me fuck this up.
Chapter Eight
Sarah
The morning sun glints off the Phantom River, the icy water rushing faster than usual with the spring thaw. I can hear the roar before I even reach the clearing. Grady told me last night he likes to take a dip here when he needs to clear his head, and I couldn’t help but feel curious—okay, nosy—about what that looks like.
When I push through the last of the trees, I freeze.
Grady stands at the riverbank, stark naked. My breath catches in my throat. Broad shoulders, rippling muscles, the sharp curve of his spine leading down to—
"Good morning, sunshine," his deep voice rumbles, and I realize too late that he’s caught me staring. His lips twitch in a smirk as he wades into the freezing water, like being completely exposed doesn’t bother him in the slightest. “Sleep well?”
I’m pretty sure my face is the color of a ripe tomato. “Yeah—um…I didn’t mean to—" I stammer, trying to look anywhere but at him.
"Didn’t mean to what?” He turns to face me, chest-deep in the water now, the river lapping at his sculpted torso, the fine dusting of hair that covers his broad chest makes the space between my thighs ache. His grin is pure mischief. "You walked all the way out here just to look at the trees?"
I cross my arms, trying to muster some semblance of composure. "I was curious, okay? You said you did this to clear your head."
"And now you’re curious if it works?" He arches a brow, the playful challenge in his tone unmistakable.
"Something like that," I mutter, still not meeting his gaze. My thighs still ache in the most delicious way, a sweet reminder of where he was last night.
"Why don’t you find out for yourself?" His voice drops, rough and tempting. He nods toward the river. "Come on, sweetheart. Water’s fine."
"Are you insane? That water has to be freezing."
He shrugs, the movement making his muscles flex in a way that has no business being this distracting. "Only one way to find out."
"I didn’t bring a swimsuit," I blurt, regretting it instantly.
His smirk widens. "Didn’t stop me."
Heat flushes through me, but it’s not just embarrassment anymore. The way he’s looking at me—like he dares me to step out of my comfort zone, to take the plunge with him—makes my pulse race. It’s infuriating and thrilling all at once.
"You’re impossible," I say, but my voice lacks the bite I intended.
"And you’re stalling," he counters, his eyes glinting with challenge. I think of every mean insult Brady threw at me over the last two years of our relationship–telling me I should eat less or get on a meal plan to drop some pounds. Poking at the muffin top at my waist and snickering that I’d put on some weight. Almost like he made a challenge with himself to fat-shame me in more and more clever ways. Anger and hurt bubbles to life inside of me but I push it down, refusing to believe that my value has anything to do with the number on the scale.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I kick off my boots and peel off my jacket. The morning air is sharp against my skin, and I shiver as I fumble with the buttons of my shirt. I feel his gaze, heavy and unrelenting, as I strip down to my underwear.