Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
He leans down, chest to my back, breath hot against my ear.
“I can’t be gentle with you,” he whispers, voice shaking. “Don’t ask me to.”
“I won’t,” I gasp. “I don’t want gentle. I want you.”
And it breaks him.
His pace turns brutal and savage, each stroke slamming into that sweet, raw place inside me until I’m sobbing his name into the sheets, eyes squeezed shut, fingernails clawing at the mattress.
Pleasure ripples through me again, so violent, blinding, and absolute that my whole body locks, convulsing around him, and still—still—he doesn’t let up.
“Jaxon—” I choke, twisting to look at him.
He growls something that might be my name, and then he’s spilling inside me, hips jerking, his abs tense, arms trembling as he pours himself into me with a sound like a surrender.
We collapse together, breathless and undone. His lips press to the tender place at my nape, his breath gusting hot over my skin. His hand finds mine blindly in the wreckage of damp sheets and sweaty skin, and he squeezes.
It’s a quiet, broken thank-you.
The storm inside me isn’t gone. It never is. But the ache feels a little quieter. I close my eyes and try to catch my breath, focusing on the moment and not what comes next, because what comes next is always a disappointment.
Jaxon shifts, bracing his forearm against the mattress to keep from fully collapsing his weight onto me. His breath is ragged against my throat, warm and uneven. I feel his heart hammering against my ribs, a brutal, frantic rhythm that matches my own.
Neither of us speaks.
Slowly, painfully, reality seeps back in through the cracks. My fingers, still clenched tight around his back, loosen, dragging gently down the sweat-slicked ridges of muscle as my pulse slows. My legs fall open, trembling from the intensity of it all.
Jaxon doesn’t move to get up. He exhales as one big hand slides absently down my side, following the curve of my waist like he’s memorizing it without even realizing.
I thought he’d pull away. Roll over. Escape into that hard shell of distance he seems to live behind, but instead, he stays. His body remains warm and heavy on mine. His mouth brushes once, barely there, against my shoulder, then, without a word, he shifts again, carefully sliding out of me and pulling me into his arms as he settles onto his side. His breath catches as I stiffen in surprise, but I don’t resist. I can’t. I let him gather me close, my back to his chest, one long arm anchoring tightly around my waist.
The heat of him calms the tremble in my limbs, even as my mind spins wildly.
“Y’know,” he murmurs after a long beat, voice low and rough against the shell of my ear, “I usually like to get to know a woman before I watch her come. Ask her a few polite questions at least. Favorite color, maybe. How she takes her coffee.”
I laugh, startled and breathless at this lightness I would never have expected from broody, sexy Jaxon. “Yeah? Well, for the record, humping pillows in strangers’ houses isn’t exactly my usual foreplay, either.”
He chuckles, soft and genuine, the sound vibrating against my back. “Okay. We’re already halfway in, so let’s do this like civilized adults.”
“Speed-post-fuck-dating?” I quip.
“Exactly.” His hand flexes lightly against my stomach. “Favorite color?”
“Deep green.”
“Solid choice.” His voice softens. “Coffee?”
“Black. Like my soul.”
He huffs a laugh. “Figures. I’m a two sugars, splash of cream kind of guy.”
“Extra sweet. Are you sure?” I grin into the dark. “Favorite dessert?”
“Banana split,” he says.
“How retro. I’m a chocolate fudge cake kinda girl.”
“Of course you are.”
“Dog or cat?”
“Dog. Obviously.” I feel him tilt his head toward where Beau is likely passed out downstairs. “You?”
“Dog.” I sigh, eyelids drooping, the coma of sleep creeping closer. “You?”
“Still dog.”
We lapse into a companionable silence, the weight of his arm a steady comfort. The ridiculousness of the conversation does exactly what I need, easing the sharp edges of what happened and soothing some of the pain left from Levi’s withdrawal.
Jaxon Delaney keeps everyone at a distance, but he’s here, his chest against my back, his arm heavy over my waist like a barrier between us and the world.
I don’t know what to make of it. Before my brain catches up with my mouth, I ask.
“What are you looking for in a wife?”
His lips brush my shoulder. “Why? You auditioning?”
I snort, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “For the article.”
“Expert at pillow humping,” he says. “Fuck that was hot.”
“I’m serious.”
He exhales, and I feel the tension roll through him, subtle but unmistakable. His hand smooths once over my stomach, then stills. “I don’t know,” he says finally, voice softer now. “Someone who doesn’t expect me to be good at this. At life. At feelings. Someone who doesn’t need me to have it all figured out. Who doesn’t need words when there are actions. Someone who stays anyway.”