Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. My hands landed on his chest, palms flat against the solid warmth of him through his shirt. His heart beat steadily and strong under my touch, a counterpoint to my own racing pulse. I looked up at him, taking in the masculine planes of his face, the stubble along his jaw, those eyes that never lied to me.
“I want this,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “I want you.”
I rose onto my toes and pressed my mouth to his. His lips were warm, surprisingly soft against mine. For a moment he remained still, letting me lead, and then his hands came up to cradle my face with a gentleness that made my chest ache. He kissed me back, careful and measured, his restraint evident in the tension I felt in his muscled body.
When we broke apart, his thumbs brushed across my cheekbones. “You good?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “Tell me if anything’s not working for you.”
“I’m good.” I nodded, the words coming out breathless. “Better than good. I think I need this, Rip. But only with you. I don’t want anyone but you.”
“Just say the word and we stop,” he said. “Anytime. No questions asked.”
“I know.” I smiled at him, my heart light and everything inside me settling. “That’s why this is right. I trust you like I’ve not trusted anyone in a very long time.”
He kissed me again, deeper this time, letting me set the terms. I pressed closer, sliding my hands up to his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle. And, oh God, desire shot through me like a rushing river buried under layers of fear and pain, waiting for the right moment to resurface.
Rip pulled back slightly and reached for his leather cut. He slipped it off his shoulders, folding it carefully before placing it on the chair in the corner. The care he took with that symbol of his life, his brotherhood, struck me as profoundly intimate. Then he gripped the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion.
The sight of him stole my breath. His chest and arms were a canvas of ink and scars, stories of his life. The overhead light caught the contours of muscle, the definition earned through years of physical labor and prison workouts. I reached out, my fingers tracing the outline of a skull surrounded by flames that covered most of his left pectoral.
“This is beautiful,” I said, following the intricate lines of the design. My fingers found a scar next, a long, jagged line across his ribs. “And this?”
“Guy with a shank didn’t like that I was still standing.” He grinned down at me. “I took exception, and we both spent time in the infirmary.”
I traced the scar gently, feeling the raised tissue under my fingertips. Then I moved my hands to the hem of my own shirt. Rip watched me, his eyes darkening as I pulled it up and over my head. The cool air of the room raised goose bumps on my skin.
He didn’t move right away. His gaze roamed over me, taking in every inch, every mark. I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest, to hide the last fading yellow bruises along my rib cage. Instead, I stood straighter. These marks were part of my story. I wouldn’t hide them anymore. At least, not from Rip.
Rip’s hand came up slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted. His fingertips brushed over the bruises with a touch so gentle it barely registered. “Still hurt?”
“No.” I smiled up at him. “Not even a little.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in that hint of a smile that always made something warm unfurl in my chest. His hands skimmed up my sides, careful around my ribs, coming to rest just below my bra. He looked at me, a question in his eyes.
“Yes,” I said, answering before he asked.
His fingers found the front clasp and undid it with surprising dexterity. The bra fell away, and his breath hitched audibly. I felt powerful in that moment, watching desire darken his eyes, knowing I had caused that reaction in him.
He pulled me back against his chest, skin against skin now, his chest hair crisp against my sensitive nipples. With one hand around my back, the other cradling my head, Rip lowered his head to kiss me. The kiss turned hungry and urgent quickly. I reveled in the power I felt when this strong, sexy man trembled under my touch. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing myself against him, wanting to feel every inch of him pressed against my body.
He walked me backward toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and I sat, looking up at him as he towered over me. Another man standing over me like this would have triggered panic, memories of being trapped, controlled. But Rip’s presence felt like shelter, not threat.