Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Most people stumble over themselves trying to please me, entire boardrooms are stunned silent when my temper snaps, and when I’m walking down the hall, others give me a wide fucking birth. Not Seraphina though, she looks directly into my eyes when she speaks to me, unflinching when I go dark inside. And goddamn it all to hell, it makes me crave her more.
The realization settles heavy in my chest, I turn toward the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city, the storms clouds are finally breaking apart, and beyond the skyline, lightning flickers in the far-off distance. My reflection stares back at me, forty years old. Former U.S. Navy Seal, Spec Ops, short for keep your shit locked tight, get In and get out with minimal casualties and going dark for months at a time. I’ve got too many scares, too many ghosts. I’m standing her buck ass naked in the middle of the night aching for a woman who smiles at me like pure sunshine.
I’m damn pathetic. Except the dream hadn’t been only lust. That’s the problem, if it were physical I could handle it. Hell, I could take care of it, my hand never did me wrong, and if it would keep me from putting my hands on Seraphina, that’s exactly what I’d do. I’m now haunted with dreams of her and swear to christ it felt like she was there with me. The tips of her fingers brushing along my jaw while she whispered, “"I’ve been thinking about this—about you. Ever since the moment I first saw you. Stay just like this, I want to memorize how you look at me when you think I'm not watching." My throat tightens, my balls draw tight, and my dick shows no sign of resting.
For the first time in years, I didn’t have a nightmare, I didn’t have a memory tearing me apart. I had her warmth, her softness, her mouth inches from mine, and it was the best fucking dream.
Later today Seraphine will walk into my office wearing another one of those outfits that drives me up the damn wall. She’ll hand me my coffee, smile at me, and I’ll have to act like I hadn’t just spent the night dreaming about sliding my hands beneath her clothes and hearing her moan my name against my mouth.
I rub my hand down my face, laughing under my breath in disbelief. Combat hadn’t destroyed me. PTSD hadn’t destroyed me. It would be Seraphina Westwood and her soft eyes and sinful mouth that would ruin me, if I let her.