Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
“Were you leaving?”
I jump and spin round, my hand on my chest. “You frightened me.” But that fright quickly transforms into something else, and I’m suddenly a puddle of mush on the dining room floor. Dec. In his boxers. I exhale my awe, taking in every glorious piece of the wonder that is Dec Ellis, and store it to memory.
In case you lose him.
I flinch that thought away, my fingers twiddling nervously together. “I was getting a glass of water,” I say, motioning to the endless cupboards, where I expect there are more than just two glasses.
“So you weren’t leaving?” he asks, his eyebrows arching in interest as he strolls over.
“Nooo.” I stretch the word out, my lips pulling at the edges into something scarily similar to a smirk. “I wasn’t running out on you.”
“Good.” He loops a strong arm around my waist and hauls me into his body, forcing my hands up to his chest, my spine bending back to keep him in my sights. The dark hairs beneath my palms feels soft as I skate them up to his shoulders and hold on. His lips pout in contemplation as he studies me, and I wait, breathless. “You’re thirsty.”
I nod, and he lifts me and sits me on the island before going to a cupboard and fetching a glass, filling it and drinking half as he comes back to me. He puts it in my hand and watches me as I drink the rest.
“Done?” he asks, taking the glass once it’s empty and setting it aside.
“Done.”
“So I can take you back to bed?”
I nod as his lips land on mine, and I close my eyes, opening up to him the moment our mouths brush, falling deeply into his sweet affection. He helps me down and finds the bottom of my dress, pulling it up to my waist with one swift tug. The backs of my thighs heat under his palms as they slide across my skin briefly before he lifts me, my legs finding their place around his waist, my arms around his neck.
And he kisses me all the way out of the kitchen, up the stairs, along the corridor, and into his bedroom, laying me down and swathing me in his body, taking my mouth and once again kissing me into oblivion.
“Can I ask one question?” I murmur, losing my rhythm for a second as I speak.
“Hmmm.” He doesn’t lose his rhythm at all.
“Do you celebrate Christmas?”
He rolls us and bites the edge of my lip, pushing me up to straddle his waist. My eyebrows jump up when his growing arousal pushes into my backside.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known you were going to stop kissing me.”
His muscles ripple as he sits up and takes my nape, pushing his lips hard onto mine. “I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas.”
Interesting. “Is that why you have no decorations or a tree?”
His brow becomes heavy as he regards me, obviously not knowing what to say.
“I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t have a tree or decorations.” I press my lips together the moment I’ve uttered the words. Or, more like, uttered the subtle hint.
The scrutiny I’m suddenly under is painful, which begs the question why I opened my big mouth. “Care to enlighten me?” he asks.
“Not right now. Five years?”
“I’m a busy man.”
So the last woman he slept with was his wife. “You’re not very busy right now,” I whisper, my eyes dropping to his mouth as I take his hands and guide them to the zip on the back of my dress.
“Then I guess I better fix that.” He pulls my dress up and tosses it aside before rolling me to my back. “I think you’re beautiful.” he says quietly, scanning my eyes. “And it feels fucking incredible to be inside you.”
I can’t take it. How utterly amazing this man is, I just can’t take it. I nod, agreeing, and he exhales, the sound a groan mixed with heavy breathing, and rolls his mouth onto mine as he flexes his hips and plunges deeply into me.
I’ve been awake since five, and despite only drifting off past one, therefore only having four hours’ sleep, I feel rested. Wide awake. I should have left at six to walk home so I could dress and make it to work on time. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave the warmth of Dec’s bed, where I’m tucked under his arm, my cheek on his pec, my fingers brushing through the trail of hair that drifts from his belly button down to his lower stomach. Listening to his breathing. Feeling his heart beating under my cheek.
Lost in my thoughts.
Daring to hope.
Calm is a cosy blanket around my usually frantic, lonely heart.
I told myself I’d brave the Tube or get a cab, just to stay here for a while longer. And I’ve stretched my time in bed to the absolute limit. It’s seven. I have to be at work in an hour. Not contractually—my working hours are nine to five—but for the sake of predictability. I’m always in the office for eight.