Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
I stop two feet away from her. Her vanilla and citrus scent hits me. It’s intoxicating. I can see the pulse jumping in the hollow of her throat, fast and frantic, mirroring the way my own blood is screaming through my veins.
"What kind of things?" I ask. I shouldn't. I should turn around, go back to my room, and lock the door. But the way the moonlight catches the curve of her bottom lip makes me want to burn the whole world down just to fucking have her.
She looks up at me then, her blue eyes dark and searching. "You know what kind of things. Don't make me say it, Diesel. I’m already standing here in my underwear, eating out of a jar at two in the morning. Have a little mercy on my dignity."
"I’m not feeling very merciful," I growl. The distance between us vanishes before I can talk myself out of it. I’m in her space, my body looming over hers, the heat radiating off me in waves. I reach out, my thumb catching her chin and tilting her head back. Her skin is so goddamn soft. "I’ve been trying to be the good guy for a long time, Serenity. I’ve been trying to remember that you’re Alana’s best friend and that I’m supposed to protect you, not… this. But I can’t forget about that kiss earlier."
"Me neither. It’s the real reason I couldn’t sleep," she whispers, her breath hitching as my thumb brushes over her lower lip. "I don't want a good guy. I’ve had enough of being protected. I just want you to kiss me again."
That’s the breaking point. The thin, fraying thread of my control finally snaps. I don't think. I don't calculate the risk. I just react. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in those golden curls, and I haul her toward me. I pin her back against the cold marble counter.
I don't kiss her gently. I don't have a gentle bone left in my body. I crash my mouth against hers with a desperation that’s been building for years, a hunger so deep it feels like it’s part of my DNA. She doesn't pull away. She doesn't hesitate. She lets out a soft, broken moan into my mouth and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer, her body molding against mine like we’re two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.
She tastes like peanut butter and sweetness, and she feels like everything I’ve ever wanted. My hands trace the line of her spine, then move down to grip her waist, pulling her hips flush against the hard ache in my jeans. She’s so small in my arms, so delicate, but the way she’s kissing me back is pure fire. She meets me stroke for stroke, her tongue dancing with mine, her nails digging into the muscles of my shoulders.
"Diesel," she gasps against my lips, her voice a wrecked, beautiful sound. "Please. Tell me this is real. Tell me you’re not going to regret this in the morning."
"The only thing I’m going to regret is that I waited this long," I mutter, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I inhale her scent, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, making her arch her back and whimper. "You have no idea, Serenity. You have no fucking clue how many times I’ve wanted to do this."
I hook my hands under her thighs and hoist her up. She’s light as a feather, her legs immediately locking around my waist, her heels digging into my glutes. I back her further onto the counter, clearing away the peanut butter and the spoon with one sweep of my arm. The jar clatters to the floor, but neither of us cares. I’m too busy trying to memorize the way she feels wrapped around me, the way her tits are pressed against my chest, her nipples hard through the thin silk.
I break the kiss just long enough to look at her, really look at her. Her face is flushed, her lips swollen and damp, her eyes glazed with a heat that matches my own. She looks wrecked, and she looks like she belongs to me. I’ve spent my whole life looking for a place to fit, for a family that wasn't broken, for a home that didn't feel like a cage. And looking at her now, I realize I’ve been looking for a person, not a place.
"My bedroom," I grunt, the words barely making it past the roar in my ears. "Now."
"Yes," she says, her hands fisted in my hair. "Now, Diesel. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
I don't put her down. I carry her through the house, my stride long and purposeful, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her chest. We don't make it to the bed before the clothes start disappearing. I set her down just inside the door, my hands trembling as I grab the hem of that pink camisole and pull it over her head. She’s perfect. Even better than the fantasies I’ve spent years trying to kill. Her breasts are full and heavy, her nipples dark and inviting, her waist narrow and tapering into the flare of her hips.