Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
She doesn’t know how good this feels. Just this. Clothes and all.
“Dinner,” I say, trying, I think, one last time, to bring us back down to earth.
But neither of us registers it.
Paige’s hands work ferociously fast unbuttoning my shirt with so little patience, I end up with claw marks down my chest. Fuck.
I kiss her harder, bite her bottom lip, listening to that responding whimper, and then my fingers slide deeper, over her panties, playing with her on top of the silk.
She wants it so badly, I can feel it in the way her legs squeeze my hips tighter, hear it in the little mewls, the gentle cries she doesn’t bother to stifle.
Another heated kiss.
A begged whisper.
“Please.”
And then my fingers brush her beneath her panties, finding her wet and hot.
A curse erupts out of me, a fiery warning of what’s to come.
All my good-boy restraint? It’s gone.
I unbutton Paige’s shorts, and she helps me work them down her hips. Her panties stay on, but they’re pushed aside. My fingers are at my waistband, undoing my belt, unbuttoning my pants, yanking that zipper down with hungry abandon.
I don’t have a condom on me. Weirdly enough, I don’t keep them in my kitchen.
I tell Paige, but she shakes her head, looking me square in the eyes, pleading. “I’m on birth control,” she explains. “I’m . . . I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”
Fucking hell.
“Same. Same.”
Then she reaches down and slides her hands into my boxer briefs, pumping me with her soft hand. Up and down, harder . . . tighter. My eyes flutter closed as she keeps going, increasing her pace, making me sweat.
Her strokes quicken. She adds a second hand. For a moment, I’m lost. Then, I knock her hands away quickly, anxiously. Too much more and I’m gone, I tell her. I lean in and kiss her again, asking her if she’s certain. I can get a condom. I can cook her a goddamn spaghetti dinner. Four courses. Dessert. Whatever she wants.
But then our kiss turns hot again. This room feels like a furnace. I pull her right to the edge of the counter, line us up, and rub myself between her thighs, spreading her wetness around, making her shake with pleasure. When her eyes open and her glassy expression meets mine, I seat myself right where I belong and slowly start to press inside. Delicious inch by delicious inch, she surrounds me, squeezes me.
Her red lips tip open as I stretch her, and I growl like I’m possessed.
“Oh my . . .”
She never finishes her sentence because I seat myself all the way to the hilt. Then she leans in and kisses me again, and I start to draw out, all the while rubbing her between her thighs with my thumb while I do it. Those soft circles against that sensitive skin undo her. She’s absolutely laid bare for me as I stroke her slowly, then faster, picking up my pace until I feel her tighten around me, her stomach quivering, her eyes squeezed closed. A soundless cry falls from her lips, and I can’t take it another second. I’ve wanted her for too long. Fantasized about this moment every damn day. I come in waves, rocking into her as pleasure racks through my body. I’m in another dimension. Off in a cloud-cuckoo-land.
“Cole?”
“Mmm . . .”
“Open your eyes.”
“I can’t.”
She giggles and kisses my cheeks, one after another, until finally I pry my eyes open with a groan. She’s all I see—flushed cheeks, blue eyes, shy smile.
I’m still in her, a part of her. It’s the best I’ve ever felt. Whole, sated, loved . . .
Loved.
“I love you, Paige.”
“That’s good,” she tells me with a light laugh. “Otherwise . . .” She grimaces. “I’d be in trouble.”
“Say it back.”
“It back.”
“Paige.”
“Love? You want me to say it?”
“Yes.” I wrap my arms around her and pull her close until we’re flush. My face is in her hair, smelling all the perfumed strands.
“I love you so much, Cole.”
We eventually extricate ourselves from each other, albeit reluctantly.
“I could have done the rose-petals thing,” I tell her. “Candles. Music.”
“Next time?”
“Next time will probably be ten minutes from now,” I point out. “We’ll manage to make it to the floor instead of the counter.”
She mulls this over. “True . . . Okay, next month, or the month after, when we finally have our wits about us again, we can do it nice and slow, with a curated playlist and everything.”
“It’s a plan.” I kiss her forehead. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really. I kind of want to go for a swim.”
“Then let’s go for a swim.”
She laughs wildly as I pull her off the counter and start carrying her to the back door. Our clothes aren’t on properly; we’re still sticky and wet.
“Cole!” Her protest is weak. I know she loves this.