Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
I should not love that as much as I do.
He slides his hand out from between my legs before sliding from the booth. "Come on." He reaches for my elbow, practically hauling me to my feet while our parents watch. "Let's go before you throw up in Janice's purse again."
"Oops." I smile sweetly as the heel of my shoe digs into the top of his foot. "My bad. Didn't see your foot there."
His teeth grind together.
"Will I see you again before you leave?" I ask my mom.
"Probably not. But I'll call you from the boat," she promises, reaching for my hand to squeeze my fingers. "I love you so much."
"I love you too." My throat gets tight. "Promise me that you'll have fun and take all kinds of pictures."
"I'll make sure she does," Dennis says, sliding an arm around her shoulders.
"Thank you," I whisper to him, grateful that she has him now. He's good for her. He's good to her, too. If my dad could have chosen someone for her, I think it would have been a man just like Dennis.
"Come on," Dawson murmurs softly, his hand around my elbow. "Let's get you home."
I don't protest. At least not until we're through the gauntlet of the restaurant and outside, breathing the salty tang blowing in from the ocean.
And then I wheel around to face him, ready to commit nine kinds of violence and mayhem.
"You are such a—"
That's as far as I get before he's backing me into the dark alley, his lips already covering mine. He kisses me like he's going to lose his mind if my taste isn't on his tongue right this second.
My hands plunge into his hair, holding him to me as I attack his mouth with the same ferocious need. It pours through me in unrelenting waves, and I know, all the way to my soul, that I am so screwed. Literally. Figuratively. And every which way one can be screwed.
Chapter Six
Dawson
Iknow kissing her in public is playing with fire, but I can't help myself. She looks so goddamn beautiful when she's mad, like a tiny little firecracker lighting up the sky. I need to feel her spark and flame beneath my hands before I lose my mind.
I kiss her until I feel more rational, until I can't breathe, and then I realize that there is nothing rational about the way I feel about her. There's nothing sane left in me. She stripped all of that away months ago. Every fucking time she smiled at me. Every time she laughed. Every time she looked at me like I was her biggest hope and worst nightmare all rolled into one, she turned me into a madman.
There's no coming back from it now.
But I'm not going to fuck this up, either. So I stop kissing her long enough to hurry her to my truck. I'm not sure if her feet even touch the ground as we cross the parking lot. It doesn't matter.
She squeaks when I boost her into the passenger seat, landing with a little bounce. I can't resist plunging my hand between her legs again while I buckle her in.
She doesn't try to stop me. Instead, she spreads her thighs, welcoming my touch with a soft, greedy whine. I want to rip her panties to the side and feast right here, but like I said…I'm not fucking this up. If she wants privacy, she'll get it.
"Touch yourself, Ava," I growl, climbing into the driver's side to start the truck. "I want to hear you coming all over that perfect fucking hand before we get to my place."
I expect her to argue or fight me, but she's too keyed up for that. We're not even out of the parking lot before her hand is between her legs.
"Pull the dress up," I growl. "And move the panties. Let me see you."
She does as she's told, allowing me to sneak glimpses of her perfect cunt as I white-knuckle the steering wheel. Her juices glisten on her puffy lips in the passing lights. Even in the darkness of the truck, her pussy is the prettiest thing I've ever seen.
"Dawson," she whimpers, riding her fingers like they're mine. Her hips roll, the wet sounds driving me to the brink. I don't speed, though. I don't run a single stoplight, either. Not with her in my truck. Hell no. I'll die before I put her at risk.
"That's it, baby. Fuck your fingers just like that for me. Stretch that pretty little hole for me," I growl, my eyes flickering between her and the road, back and forth, again and again.
The drive to her place is a blur of whimpers and moans and the sight of her juices glistening on her lips.
We're almost there when she shatters for me, whining my name. She convulses beside me, riding out every wave, her mouth open in a perfect little "o" of surrender.