Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
My fingernails dig into his back, urging him on, faster and faster as I rake them down his skin.
Deeper, deeper.
Give. Me. More.
His flesh knows the words I never speak. He props my legs up over his shoulders, opening me fully.
“You are an addiction. A deadly fucking habit I’ll never dream of quitting,” he growls, driving into me faster.
It’s actually crazy how close I am already.
When my hand moves down, searching for my clit, he knocks it away, replacing it with his own. And he’s totally justified.
He’s learned my body so well he knows exactly how to touch me.
What I need.
When I need it.
And it’s not long before I feel the mother of all o’s building again.
His pace quickens, an onslaught meant to leave me in burning pieces.
His hand doesn’t stop, though. His fingers find my clit and circle in perfect time to his thrusts, fucking one gasp after the next out of me.
Then he rests his forehead on mine, his strokes slowing but coming fiercer.
“Never leave me, Sass. Never again,” he whispers.
“Never!” My breath hitches.
“I don’t want this to end.”
I wrap my arms around him, pulling him against me, skin to skin. Even if he wanted, he can’t escape.
“Don’t worry, it won’t.” I bite his ear.
I don’t hear the shudder that runs through him, but oh, I feel it.
I kiss him, and his tongue mimics the mad piston of his hips, becoming harsher and more erratic with every stroke.
But this isn’t just fucking anymore.
This is making love, and I don’t care how cheesy that sounds.
I don’t even need his hand anymore.
I rise to meet him, grinding against his pubic bone, letting him hit that perfect spot that makes me his, and only his, now and forever.
My orgasm surges like a flood, all angry rapids pulling me under until I’m swept along in its white-hot wake.
Then Brady groans and his cock drives deep, slamming me into the bed.
He pins me down as he stakes his claim, marking me with ropes of fire hurling deep inside me.
With his cock still twitching and his teeth bared, he cups my face in his hands, whispering words that sound too human for this animal fusion.
“Never again, Lena. Never. You’re all mine, and I’ll never let you go.”
“I love you.” I’m too awestruck and too exhausted to murmur back anything more.
With my heart overflowing, I pass out in his arms and sleep like the dead.
XXVI
Doggone Perfect
(Brady)
It’s a beautiful, clear day when I find him by the boathouse dock.
If Dad has a favorite spot on earth, it’s here, lurking under the sprawling shade of this massive willow tree as he watches the lake rippling in the sunlight. He’s alone today like I knew he’d be, no Freddy around, though the nurse is never far behind.
It’s a scenario I’ve witnessed a hundred times growing up, but something about it stalls me in my tracks when I’m still a few feet behind him.
When has my father ever looked so small?
“Brady.” Even his voice sounds tiny and faded as he calls to me.
With my nostrils flaring, I walk up next to him. He doesn’t bother to look up at me.
No surprise.
“Well, let’s hear it,” I start. “I’m sure you’re livid. For once, I can’t say I blame you, Dad. If you want to go off and tell me how stupid and shitty and unworthy I am, now’s your chance.”
I don’t breathe.
Honestly, I probably shouldn’t be encouraging him to ragedump with his heart condition, but I just want this over with.
Dad takes his sweet time deciding how to tear my face off—probably considering his options. Then he smiles, his eyes fixed on a sailboat drifting by.
“What’s the damn point in rattling off the same script you’ve heard a thousand times? Especially when it isn’t true.”
What.
I blink, clearing my throat because I don’t know where this is going.
“I don’t understand. If you need me to spend the next week with PR, hashing out damage control strategies, I’m ready. If you never want me to meet with them again, I’ll do that too. I just need to know what direction you’d like to—”
“No direction,” he growls, cutting me off. “You’ve plotted your path, and I couldn’t blow you off course if I was Poseidon himself. I didn’t bring you here to spin you around. I want to sit back and watch where the wind blows.”
I’m so lost.
When I say nothing, he turns to me, his eyes rheumy and red today.
Christ. Is it his heart . . . or has he been crying?
“Dad, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying you delivered, Brady. We’ve been waiting for this for years. You made your mistakes, and you took them on the chin like a man. That’s massive.”
I almost rock back from the shock. His pale-blue gaze sweeps through me.
“You’re feeling okay, right? No new health issues?” I ask gently, shaking my head. “No offense, but you look kind of rough.”