Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
He allows his new wife to run everything.
Leaving me out in the cold.
But I’m not out in the cold right now. I’m getting warmer, actually, because I’ve arrived at the part of the illustration series where Colossal, also known as Eric, meets with his romantic interest after the game, and—
My phone vibrates on the table, making my yip, the end of my pencil snapping.
“Oh no,” I murmur, setting down the implement. I say a prayer that my stepmother or father aren’t texting me, before looking at the screen.
My prayers are answered, because it’s not one of them.
It’s Eric.
My thighs immediately squeak together on the seat.
Eric: Hey, Fairy Tale. Did you…leave?
Marlow: Well yes. The game was over, right?
E: I was hoping I’d see you afterward.
M: Oh!
E: But I understand if you just wanted to get home. Is that where you are? I would have driven you.
M: I’m at the coffee shop down the street, actually. Lola’s.
E: I’ll be there in thirty seconds.
I set down the phone with forty million butterflies in my tummy. I have this crazy urge to watch Eric walk down the street and I don’t deny myself, hopping up from the table and running out the front door of Lola’s, the sky lit up with stars and moonlight. And there’s Eric in a hoodie, hands hidden in the pockets of his sweatpants. His feet are shoved into a pair of black slides that I could probably use to go sledding.
Obeying the urge that prods me, I hit the sidewalk in a jog and I run to him.
His head lifts when I get closer, relief spreading across his features over whatever he sees on my face, his arms opening to snatch me up off the ground with zero effort. I wrap my thighs around his waist and nuzzle my face in his neck, loving how easily he holds me there, so I can just let my feet dangle.
“Damn, Marlow.” His arms close around me tight. “I thought I’d scared you off.”
I lift my head, giving him an inquisitive look. “Why?”
“I broke the glass, yelled at that fucker who was bothering you.” He shakes his head. “Everyone ran, like I was Godzilla about to stomp out the whole town.”
“I didn’t run,” I whisper, kissing his chin. “Sometimes the hero needs to step in and remind everyone they’re being held to a higher standard. The one you set. That’s all you were doing.” I scrub my knuckles against his stubble. “And letting everyone know I’m yours. I like that part most of all.”
“Same. But I still can’t believe it’s true.” He runs his hands up the outsides of my thighs, twisting his fists in the sides of my skirt, tugging my lower body closer. “Aw, baby. You looked like a sweet little cupcake sitting there in the bleachers.”
“I am sweet,” I breathe, laying my mouth on top of his. “Wanna see?”
“Yes,” he says, already hoarse.
We stumble sideways in our haste to taste each other, my mouth opening for him, accepting his tongue with a moan while he enjoys a good, rough knead of my bottom, on top of my panties. I hold his face in my hands in a slant, lick, slant, kind of kiss, excitement rumbling upward from the tips of my toes, tingling in my calves, knees, thighs, until it throbs in my core, like a hot, rhythmic pump. “You were so incredible tonight that I had to draw you,” I whisper, climbing his big body higher, clinging more securely with all the strength of my inner thighs, wanting to feel all of him. Everywhere. “You’re starring in my newest drawings. Do you want to come see?”
He settles his forehead against mine and simply holds me in the muted nighttime of the street, swaying right to left. “I want to see anything you want to show me.”
I press my nose into his neck, inhaling him, then I shimmy my way to the ground, intertwine our fingers and tug him into the coffee shop. Every head in the place turns on a swivel to witness the glory of Eric Von Hagen, though he seems self-conscious about all the attention. Well, I’m going to cure that insecurity in no time.
Eric lets me guide him down into the seat I vacated before he arrived, then I take my spot in his lap, smiling over his lusty grunt when my bottom presses to his groin that grows significantly and rapidly with us sitting in this position, though I keep my hips still. For now.
“Is that supposed to be me?” Eric says, sounding astonished as he peers over the top of my head down at my sketchbook, which is still wide open on the table. “You’re so talented, Marlow. These could be published, but, uh…that guy is all sinewy and confident and badass.”
I tilt my head back to kiss the underside of his chin. “That’s what I see when I look at you. That’s not how you feel?”