Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I mean, why would he make this easy on either one of us?
He knew what his orders did to me.
Which was probably why he did it.
“I…”
His hand smoothed around my waist, and he pulled me back to him.
I felt his arousal pressing against my backside, and long-ago memories of how it felt to be wrapped up in his arms as he used a certain appendage to drive me insane popped up into my thoughts.
God, even at eighteen, the man had known what he was doing.
The first time we’d had sex had been four weeks after we’d met. It’d been in the bathroom at the high school at his senior prom that he’d invited me to.
We never made it into the gym to celebrate, either.
We’d gotten as far as the first dark hallway, which he’d pulled me down to kiss me.
From there, things got out of hand, and all of it had to do with his skillful hands and talented mouth.
“Come back to my hotel,” he repeated, brooking no room for argument this time as he tightened his hold on my body.
“Your brothers are here,” I tried to argue.
He snorted. “My brothers are here because it gave them the leave they wanted to take a break. They didn’t actually come for me.”
I didn’t say anything.
Not at first.
No, my brain was too busy whirling as I tried to stop my crazy thoughts from taking the natural path they wanted to take when it came to this particular Carter.
Almost without thought, my feet carried me out of the bar, and down the street before Quinn could guide me. Within five minutes, we were walking into a Marriott.
Two minutes after that, we were inside his hotel room, and he was staring at me expectantly.
That’s when I temporarily caught up to my morals.
“Quinn James, what are you doing to me?” I asked.
“What I’ve been trying to do since you left me,” he grumbled, then he kissed me.
It took a few long seconds for his words to register. I mean, Quinn’s mouth had a way of making me stupid. But eventually his words sank in, and they angered me.
I pushed at his shoulders, catching him by surprise. “I didn’t fucking leave, Quinn! You did!”
He fell back a step, shock on his face at my abrupt reaction.
“I didn’t leave!” he corrected me. “One day, we’re taking a break, and the next, you’re in Missouri joining the goddamn Army!”
“A break…” I said, shaking my head to clear it. “We were on a break?”
“It was…” he paused. “A pause. A break. A…”
A fucking break up…
I scoffed. “You’re fucking nuts if you expect me to think what happened when you broke up with me was a goddamn break.”
“Watch your mouth,” he snapped.
One day, I’d asked Quinn why he hated when I cussed.
He’d said it was because, when I cursed, it wasn’t because I was hurt, but because I was pissed off and inconvenienced.
See, when I was a child, I was diagnosed with a disorder where I couldn’t feel pain.
According to the doctors my parents had made me see, I had congenital insensitivity to pain and anhidrosis—also known as CIPA.
From toddlerhood, my family knew I was different.
It was only when I turned six, and I broke my arm and didn’t cry, that the doctors finally put a name to the condition.
From then on, I had to be hyperaware of myself. When I got a cut, or a bump, I had to make sure that it wasn’t more serious than just the peripheral.
When I met Quinn, the day we’d become what we were to each other, it was because I’d walked into a door and broken my nose.
I hadn’t cried, called out, or anything.
All I’d said was ‘dammit.’
It’d caught the attention of one Quinn Carter, though. And from then on, we’d become us. Quinn + Shayne.
You didn’t hear one name without thinking about the other.
Until you did.
Needless to say, when I cursed, it was usually because I’d hurt myself, and inadvertently caused myself inconvenience.
Quinn didn’t like how nonchalant I was about hurting myself. Nor did he like when he had to guess if I was actually hurt, or just reacting.
Hence his aversion to my cursing.
“Fucking make me,” I challenged him.
His eyes flared, and then he was pressing me against the wall, his big body holding up mine.
My legs went around his waist, and my arms around his shoulders.
His mouth slanted over mine, and then we were back to where we were always the greatest.
Physically, we’d never had any issues.
It was always good.
There was never a time where he hadn’t gotten me off.
He was an unselfish, overly dedicated lover, and I’d missed him while he’d been gone.
No one else had touched me. No one else had run their lips along mine. No one else had had me in their arms.
I’d missed this.
I’d missed the closeness. The way I felt in his strong arms. The way he smelled. The way he breathed. There wasn’t a single thing about him that I hadn’t missed.