Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
I cry out at the loss, not sure if I want to beg or commit murder. Both sound like good options right now.
"No, princess," he rasps, pressing his lips against mine in a hard kiss. "I'm not fucking you for the first time on the goddamn kitchen floor. You aren't coming for me on the tiles."
"I don't care where we are!" I cry.
"Too bad." He bites my neck again, hauling me up into his arms. "Because I care, Chloe. You deserve more than a quick fuck on the kitchen floor."
He's not going to give me what I want. Even after everything, he's shutting me down, pulling back. He still can't color outside the damn lines for me.
My heart screams in protest, threatening to shatter.
I open my mouth to tell him to let me go or to go to hell, I'm not sure which.
"The first time I'm in you, it'll be in the bed where you were touching yourself last night," he rasps before I can say anything.
I blink. And then blink again.
"W-what?"
"You heard me." He hauls me closer, rising to his knees above me. Pulling me up with him. His eyes lock with mine, burning with intensity and intent. "The first time I'm in you, it'll be in the bed where you got yourself off moaning my name last night. The next time you have that perfect little hand between your legs, you'll smell me on your sheets. I want you drowning in me and memories of what we did while you're making yourself come next time."
Oh.
Oh. My. God.
Hope blooms where desolation just tried to take root, his words ripping through me with the force of a bomb. And I don't have a single thing to say in response as he tucks me against his chest and storms out of the kitchen, breakfast forgotten on the table.
Chapter Six
Trystan
Idon't know what the fuck I'm doing by the time I carry Chloe to her room and kick the door closed behind us. I've been running on pure adrenaline and desperation since I heard her moaning my name last night.
I don't intend to stop now. Wherever this leads, wherever we land…I'm not stopping now. Not after what she said in the kitchen. Not after hearing her crying out for me last night. Fuck what anyone else thinks at this point. The only thing that matters is what we think.
And I think if I'm not inside her soon, I'm going to lose my mind. I know she's right there with me, ache for fucking ache. She's trembling in my arms, her eyes wide and dilated.
She looks like a pretty little firecracker, all smoke and flame, ready to detonate. But when she does, it won't be because of some fantasy of me her mind conjured up. It'll be because of me. Because of my hands on her body, my lips, my tongue. My cock.
She bounces when I drop her on the bed, her arms splayed wide, her dress tangled up around her thighs. Goddamn, she's beautiful. Sexy, too. All rumpled and indecent.
And all fucking mine.
I yank my shirt off, hauling it up over my head. I'm still fighting my way free of the material when I hear her soft gasp.
"Trystan, what…?"
Shit.
I drop the shirt to find her struggling to sit upright, her eyes locked on my ribcage, her lips slightly parted. She crawls across the bed toward me, one hand extended.
I groan softly, my eyes falling closed as soon as she's got her hand on my body, her fingers trembling against my skin.
"When?" she demands softly, tracing the edges of the tattoo I got for her—the one I got of her laughing up at me with a firefly in her cupped hands.
"My twenty-first birthday." I crack my eyes open to look at her, swallowing hard. "You didn't come home from college that year." I missed the fuck out of her, so I inked her into my skin so I could keep her close, no matter how far she went.
Guilt flickers in her gaze. "I didn't think you'd care if I came or not."
"I always cared, princess," I rasp. "Always."
Her finger traces over the delicate wings of the firefly. "You remember chasing fireflies with me?"
"You think I could forget?" I reach for her hand, lacing our fingers together to tug her closer.
She rises up on her knees, planting her free hand against my chest to steady herself. Her head tips back, her eyes locked on my face like she's seeing me in a way she never has. Hell, maybe she is. I've kept the ink carefully covered for the last five years; afraid she'd lose her goddamn mind if she ever saw it. Convinced she hated me.
She set me free from that belief today. I think maybe she set herself free, too. I have no fucking clue what comes tomorrow or the day after that or the one after that. But I know what I want. It's not just her in my bed. It's her in every single way.