Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Is that what I am?”
I shrugged. “Do you always stick your tongue in your friends’ mouths when you see them?”
Weston cracked up. “No, just yours. I’m good with being your boyfriend.” He picked up the glass of wine and took a sip. “I ordered pizza for delivery.”
“Ah, I was going to ask where the food is.”
He shook his head. “You and your love of pizza.”
“It’s a talent. I know.” I took a sip.
“Boyfriend, huh?” he questioned after a minute.
“Is that okay?” I supposed we should talk about it.
“More than okay,” he said. “I know this isn’t the time for big declarations, but Antonia . . . when I look at you, I see the woman who dropped everything to fight for her best friend. I see someone who stepped up to raise two kids without hesitation. You don’t just love Cutter and Nova; you became their safe harbor. And for the first time in my life, I want to be someone’s safe harbor too. I want to be yours.”
“Weston . . .” I breathed, my voice barely audible. The words this man had spoken made my knees shake. “If you keep saying things like that, I’m going to fall so hard for you that there’s no coming back from it.”
“Good,” he said with a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Because I’m already there.”
Weston stood with his glass of wine, took my hand in his, and led me into the house. Thankfully, I had the forethought to grab my glass before I was rushed inside.
“What are you doing?”
“This,” he said as he kicked the door closed and put our glasses down on the sideboard. His hands were warm against my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones with a tenderness that made my breath hitch. His brown eyes burned into mine, filled with something raw, something fierce, something that sent a shiver racing down my spine.
Then his lips crashed into mine.
The kiss was urgent, hungry—weeks of tension and unspoken desire finally unraveling between us. I fisted his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything. His mouth moved over mine, teasing, tasting, taking, and I met him with the same desperation, opening for him, our tongues tangling, stroking, fueling the fire that had been simmering between us for far too long.
His hands slid from my face, one curling around the nape of my neck, the other gripping my waist, fingers pressing into my skin like he never wanted to let go.
One thing was certain: I didn’t want him to.
I moaned into his mouth as his hands moved lower, gripping my hips, tugging me flush against him. I felt every hard plane of his body, the undeniable evidence of his need pressing into me, and a pulse of heat shot through me.
I needed to feel more.
My hands slid under his shirt, fingertips skimming over his stomach, feeling the tense ridges of muscle, the heat of his skin. I pushed the fabric up, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head.
God.
My breath caught at the sight of him—broad shoulders, chiseled chest. This man had twelve years on me and looked better than men my age. He was beautiful, and he was mine. More importantly, he wanted to be mine.
Weston growled low in his throat as he reached for my T-shirt, pulling it up and over my head in one swift motion. His hands roamed over my bare skin, rough palms skimming over my stomach, up my ribs, making me shiver as he traced the curve of my breasts.
“You’re so damn gorgeous,” he murmured against my lips before his mouth trailed lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, down my throat.
I tilted my head back, giving him more access, my fingers threading into his hair as he kissed his way across my collarbone. His tongue flicked over the sensitive spot just below my ear, and I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He grinned against my skin, his hands working the clasp of my bra. The second it was free, he pulled it off, tossing it aside before his hands were on me again, mapping every inch of bare skin. His mouth followed, kissing, tasting, until his lips wrapped around one hardened peak, his tongue flicking, teasing, sending a bolt of pleasure straight between my legs.
I arched into him, my head falling back as heat coiled low in my stomach. “Weston . . .”
“Say it again,” he rasped, his voice thick with need.
“Weston.” I pulled his mouth back to mine, kissing him deep, hard, pouring every ounce of desire into it.
His hands slid to my jeans, unbuttoning them with practiced ease and pushing them down my hips. I kicked them away, barely aware of the cool air against my heated skin, before his hands were on me again, gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly into his arms.