Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“I hate you,” I pant, ruining it with a breathy laugh.
“I’ve waited this long,” he says, picking me up and wrapping my legs around his waist as he walks to the bed. “No way it’s happening on my piano bench.”
He lays me down, the silky softness of his sheets luxurious beneath my naked skin. He looks at me for so long I grow a little self-conscious, pressing my knees together and crossing my chest with one arm.
“No.” He pulls my arm away and lifts my fingers to his lips. “Don’t do that. I just want to see you.”
His gaze caresses every naked inch of me, stretching a few moments into eons. And I feel less and less like covering up and more and more like opening up; giving him everything to reward the look of awe and want in his eyes.
“You should be naked,” I say, allowing myself a small smile, which he returns with one of his own. Slowly, deliberately, he strips off his clothes, letting them fall in a heap beside the bed. He was always beautiful, but his body is a reminder of just how young we were then because now he is harder and more chiseled, defined muscles scalloping his chest and ribs. There’s a confidence and grace in every movement when he sheaths the condom on and settles beside me.
In the light of the lamps by his bed, we turn our heads and consider each other for a moment, our breaths colliding. When we kiss, there’s nothing hesitant or sweet about it. It’s forceful and starved and sure. Our hands explore and grip as we grind.
“I’m ready,” I say, even though the pleasure is so intense, I squirm and writhe. When he finally presses inside, my breath hovers in my throat as I adjust to the size of him.
“So tight.” His voice is hoarse, his breaths misting my lips, and his forehead pressed to mine. “So fucking perfect.”
The initial sting fades, and an ache takes its place. A deep need that has me linking my ankles at the base of his spine.
“You want it?” he asks, hooking his arm behind my knee, spreading me open wider.
I have no air to speak, no sound for the tumble of thoughts and sensations overtaking me, but I nod and tighten my muscles around him.
“Shit,” he groans, moving and pushing in so deep it feels like he reaches the very bottom of me; the places I forgot or never knew. “You take me so good, Vee, like this pussy was made for me.”
It was.
I almost scream the confession; almost tell him that I’ve felt empty ever since the last time we were together this way, and now I’m full again. Not just the way he rocks into me so hard and deep, my breath saws out with every thrust, but the kind of full that is like a sigh. That feels like finally.
He reaches between us, caressing and stroking, playing me like an arpeggio; a chord that ascends and climbs until it breaks.
When I come, my scream splits the air and he follows, dropping his head to the curve of my shoulder as he loses himself to a rhythm that has gotten away from us both. Something we’re captive to, at the mercy of; our bodies so entangled it feels like our very souls are joined. The careful separations of commas and dashes and periods dissolve, and we are a run-on sentence. So caught up in right now untilwecannotdistinguishwhereoneendsandtheotherbegins. Flesh and essence overlap. Slammed together. Grinding the differences from before to dust. It feels like a reunion; like returning to a home you never should have left. My last conscious thought as we tangle in the sheets is to wonder if he might feel the same.
I wake with a start, disoriented by the heavy arm draped over my waist and the unfamiliar bed. I haven’t been the little spoon in years. For a while there, when we adjusted the meds, my sex drive went into hibernation. For months, my body was unrousable. When things leveled out, I was focused on work and only made space for quick hookups with no unnecessary cuddling. I called those my come-and-goes. We both come… more than once if we’re lucky… and then I go.
Come and go.
I haven’t slept with many men since I moved to LA. Not that I haven’t been attracted to any. I have, but I need to feel safe to truly enjoy sex, and going to some strange guy’s house or having him in my space feels risky. So few men have ever truly made me feel safe. The history Monk and I have, the way we know each other, the way I know he loved me before everything went wrong—there is literally no man, no one I’ve ever felt safer with. My body at least. My heart.… That has been in jeopardy since the moment I found out we’d be working together on this film.