Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
And he has.
Oh, he has . . .
Immediately, I melt. He kisses like a man who means it—no hesitation, no nonsense, just heat and precision and a moan from my throat I can’t stop. He kisses like a man possessed. Or afraid. Like a man who needs a distraction and has found the perfect one in me.
I don’t mind.
I want this—whatever this is, even for tonight.
Chapter 10
Maverick
Her mouth tastes like peppermint is the first thing I think when our lips meet. The rain slamming outside the windows is like the world’s trying to break in is the other.
I couldn’t give two fucks.
Let the storm rage. Let the power stay off. The world can wait.
Annabelle feels incredible. Her lips. Her breath. The way her fingers slide up my neck, nails scratching at my scalp. So fucking good . . .
I deepen the kiss, mouth slanting over hers, my tongue a slow, deliberate stroke. Nothing about this kiss is frantic, despite the blood leaving my brain and rushing straight to my dick. It strains against my shorts, desperate and needy, wanting to thrust.
Get sucked.
My hand slides, fingers grazing the flesh below the hem of her skimpy camisole. I’d caught a glimpse of her body when she walked into the room before climbing into bed, before we turned out our flashlights, plunging ourselves into darkness. Tiny shorts. Clingy tank top, fabric sheer enough to see through.
I wonder if she wore this on purpose, knowing it would torment me . . .
My hand cups her breast through her shirt, the weight of her boob filling my palm, thumb moving to stroke her nipple. I circle it, round and round, hoping to drive her nuts. Wanting to get her wet.
It puckers.
Fuck, I wish the lights were on . . .
But maybe it’s better this way. The dark makes every sound sharper. Every breath louder. Every inch of skin more sensitive.
She arches into my palm, her breath catching—a barely there sound, but I hear it like she shouted. My pulse roars in my ears. Her body’s giving me the green light, and my control is hanging by a frayed thread.
“This all right?” I murmur, lips brushing her temple.
She nods. “Yes. Keep going.”
I shift so I’m braced half over her, my hand sliding down her ribs, across the slope of her waist. She’s all curves and softness and maddening heat. My mouth finds her neck, tongue darting out to taste the spot below her ear.
Her hands roam, too—one fisting the fabric at my side, the other dragging up my back like she wants to take inventory of every muscle. It lights me on fucking fire.
“Annabelle . . .”
She tilts her neck, offering even more skin. More access. I press my lips beneath her ear, letting my teeth scrape softly against her skin. Suck gently.
She shivers.
I roll her, moving her to the center of the mattress, slide between her thighs, dragging the sheet with us as I press my weight into her . . . enough to let her feel me. All of me.
No doubt she feels how hard my cock is. Annabelle gasps, hips shifting reflexively—searching, aligning, rubbing against me.
Jesus. She’s so warm. So fucking soft.
I lower my head, fingers hooking the strap of her tank and sliding it down her shoulder. I graze her collarbone with my mouth, slow and deliberate. I want her to remember me after we part ways. After I’m long gone and she goes back to her side of the lake.
Then I slide my hands lower, beneath the hem of her tank to palm her breast, thumb brushing gently, teasing. She lets out a whimper and a sigh—and my mouth crashes back onto hers because I’ve gone too long without it.
The storm outside cracks louder, but I’m calm. Hot.
Tense.
Annabelle sucks on my tongue several seconds before I go back to lavishing attention to her tits; her gorgeous, beautiful tits. I can’t see them, but I feel them, their weight in my hands. The way her body arches to give me more. Her stiff nipples have my mouth watering.
I suck them.
Lick.
Blow a cool stream of air over the wet peak just to feel her squirm.
She moans, thighs pressing together. Her hips lift again, restless and needy. My hand leaves her breast and travels lower, slipping down over her ribs, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip.
The hem of her shorts taunts me. Silky. Satin.
They are so utterly useless.
I let my fingers trace the waistband, thumb teasing along the seam as I kiss down her throat again . . . her collarbone . . . nip at the strap of her tank top with my teeth . . .
Goddamn, I want her naked.
Want us both naked.
Want to fuck her so bad.
Our lips crash together again, hotter, messier, needier. I groan into her mouth, low and guttural, pressing my forehead to hers for a beat, trying to catch my breath. Impossible. She’s everywhere—under my hands, against my chest, in my head.