Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“Best wake-up ever,” she murmurs softly. I lean down to kiss the top of her head, inhaling the subtle scent of her hair as I pull her closer. This connection we share has already grown beyond a mere physical attraction for me. Now, I need to discover if Natalie feels the same way.
“I know,” I say, drawing a deep, steadying breath as I prepare to test the waters. “I usually have Sunday brunch with my grandmother. Would you like to join me tomorrow?” The words hang in the air, a tentative invitation, and I’m not sure who is more surprised by my invitation, her or me.
“I’d love to,” she replies, her smile brightening the room as she snuggles even closer. Hell fucking yes.
CHAPTER 7
NATALIE
I wake up next to Declan, enveloped in a cocoon of luxury and something more profound, a comforting weight that grounds me. The room is still cloaked in the soft darkness before dawn, but I’m fully awake, my senses alive and craving the familiar warmth and taste of him.
I'm curled up against his bare chest, feeling it gently rise and fall with each deep, even breath, confirming that he is still deeply asleep.
With all six-foot-seven of him slack and sprawled, I have time to study him. This is the first morning I’ve ever watched him sleep, and I take full advantage. His face, unguarded, is almost gentle. The usual scowl has smoothed out, the line between his eyebrows barely a crease. His lips, usually clamped tight, have parted just enough that I can see the glint of his straight, white teeth. I imagine kissing him awake, slow and lazy, until those lips start issuing orders.
His arms are thrown above his head, giving me an unfiltered view of his tattoos. There’s the snake twining up his left arm, scales black as a war story, a dagger clutched in its mouth. On his right arm, he’s got a full black arm sleeve. He has a scar over his right collarbone, pale against his tan skin, and I find myself wanting to trace it, just to see if he’ll twitch.
It’s been a few weeks since I let him fuck me over his glass desk. Our lives since then have been a blur of contracts, conference calls, and fighting our desire for each other until the end of the workday. I tell myself it’s just the thrill, the adrenaline rush of being with someone so intense, but that’s a lie I can’t even sell myself at seven AM on a Sunday.
I’ve fallen for him, hard and fast and completely against my better judgment. It should terrify me, but instead, it feels like walking into a hurricane on purpose.
He shifts, and his arm falls down around my waist, his massive hand splayed across the small of my back. Even asleep, the guy’s a control freak.
I lie there, breathing in his scent, sharp and dark and clean, and for the first time in my adult life, I wish I believed in things like fate, or destiny, or happy endings. Instead, I just close my eyes and savor the moment, because I know these things never last. The universe has a sick sense of humor, and I’m always the punchline.
Still, I let myself hope, a little.
Maybe he’s not just fucking me. Maybe he feels something, too. Maybe this isn’t just sex, isn’t just the weird magnetism that’s kept us orbiting each other in ever-tighter circles. Maybe last night, when he asked if I wanted to meet his grandmother, he was taking a step toward cementing our relationship.
I wonder what it would be like to actually tell him how I feel. If I just blurted out, “Hey, I know you’re a walking fortress of emotional repression, but I think I’m falling in love with you,” would he even care? Would he smirk, or would he freeze and eject me from his bed and his life in the span of a single heartbeat?
I want to know, but I also don’t. There’s something delicate about this, a balance I’ve never managed before, and I’m terrified to tip it one way or the other.
His eyes open suddenly, not fluttering or blinking, just open, sharp as a wolf’s and focused straight on me.
“Hey,” he says, voice gravelly from sleep.
“Hey yourself,” I answer, and his arm tightens around my waist.
“You were watching me.” He doesn’t ask, just states it like a fact, like he can read my mind and is mildly amused by what he found there.
I consider denying it, but then realize how pointless that would be. “You drool a little in your sleep,” I say instead, poking him lightly in the side.
He grins, a real one, all teeth and no restraint. “You snore. Loud.”
I gasp, mock offended. “I do not.”
He flips me over so fast the world spins, pinning me under his weight. “Loud enough to scare small children.” He nuzzles into my neck, biting just hard enough to make me squirm. His cock is already hard, pressing between my thighs with perfect aim.