Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Daisy gasped.
He suckled gently at first, his lips forming a seal around the sensitive tip, his tongue laving in slow, wet strokes. The sensation shot straight to her core, a bolt of pure electricity that made her inner walls clench. She arched instinctively, offering more, and he took it—drew her deeper into the heat of his mouth, his cheeks hollowing with each pull.
There was something desperate in his grip and the way his body curled into hers. The small sounds that escaped his throat between each suck went beyond the hunger of a man seeking pleasure. This was something else entirely. This was a man healing. From what, she didn’t know.
The longer he lay there, the harder the truth sounded. She wasn’t sure how, but she could feel his appreciation as deeply as his pain. The ache of a boy who’d never been held. He was seeking something he’d been denied, something fundamental and primal.
She didn’t fully understand what was happening. Didn’t have the context to piece together the fragments of trauma he carried. But the yawning emptiness inside him pressed against her like a second body.
Her eyes burned with sudden tears.
Her fingers threaded through his dark strands, cradling him to her chest the way a mother might hold a child, protective and fierce, offering shelter from whatever storm raged inside him.
Her acceptance seemed to trigger a darker need. His mouth worked harder, suckling with increasing urgency, as his tongue circled her nipple in tight spirals. His teeth grazed the sensitive tip, and she gasped.
The sound seemed to spur him further.
Fingers curled around her hip with possessive claim as he pulled harder. Pleasure built in waves she hadn’t expected. Heat pulsed between her thighs. Her hips rolled, seeking friction she couldn’t find.
His hand dropped, palming himself through the fabric of his trousers, hips thrusting in slow, unconscious drives as he rubbed the straining bulge there. The sight sent a fresh flood of arousal pooling between her thighs, and her hand drifted lower to help him.
His hand intercepted hers before she made contact, lacing their fingers together and pressing their joined hands into the pillows beside her hip.
He held her there—pinned—then he gradually loosened his grip. But the message was clear. He only wanted to touch her.
His mouth only left her breast to capture her other nipple. His hand drifted between his legs again, but never ventured any further.
Daisy’s head fell back against the pillows as the pleasure crested. Her free hand stayed tangled in his hair—a contact he allowed—while her other hand remained open and unthreatening at her side.
The coil in her belly wound tighter with each pull of his lips, each scrape of his teeth, each desperate sound that vibrated against her sensitive flesh. Her body undulated in an instinctual dance that came as naturally as breathing.
“Jack…” His name tore from her throat.
He sucked harder. Drew her nipple deep into his mouth and held it there, tongue lashing the trapped peak, and something inside her shattered.
Her spine bowed off the pillows, her thighs clamping around hollowness, her inner walls clenching in violent flutters. It was everything and at the same time not enough.
Wanting flooded through her, harder than any emotion. Deeper than grief. More consuming than compassion. A fierce, protective ache for this damaged man swallowed her from the inside out.
She might have screamed. Might have sobbed. The physical release tangled so completely with the emotional torrent that she couldn’t separate them, couldn’t tell where pleasure ended, and heartbreak began.
When the tremors finally subsided, she found herself trembling in his arms. Somehow, he was holding her now.
His breath came in ragged gasps that matched her own as they lay tangled in a tangle of limbs and confusion. Her shock reflected in his eyes as he watched her.
“Did you like it?”
She frowned and laughed at such a question. “Obviously.”
His frown deepened. “Not always.”
His question didn’t come from a place of insecurity. It came from a place of protectiveness. “Yes, Jack. I liked it very much.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he seemed to deny himself the slightest show of genuine satisfaction. The fire crackled and another bell tolled somewhere far above. Gradually, incrementally, her heartbeat slowed toward something approaching normal.
He still lay on her neck, eyes closed but awake.
Her hand drifted without conscious thought, slipping from his hair to his neck, tracing the tendons beneath his skin. Her fingers teased the collar of his shirt, finding warmth underneath and the raised flesh of a scar.
She grazed its edge with featherlight pressure, guessing the injury had been inflicted quickly, but it had healed slowly. It could have been work-related, but she knew better. He had too many. Some, like the brand of his ring, too intentional. His scars were the result of violence.
When? How long ago? The tissue had knit together thick and ropey, a permanent testament to suffering endured alone.