Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
With a groan, I headed to the shower, stopping in the doorway. Missy was asleep on the bed, curled up like a kitten on the mattress. She held my pillow, her arms keeping it close as if she were holding me. I had liked sleeping with her earlier, the feeling of her body tucked under mine, her heartbeat in my ear. She brought out so many feelings in me. Tenderness and desire. The need to protect and defend. The instinct to nurture and look after her. So many foreign emotions raged when I looked at her.
She could also wind me up faster than anything in the world. In my job, I had to be calm. Cool and rational. I had trained myself for years not to react, but to solve. Never show what I was feeling. With her, that was impossible. I felt so many things at once, one of them broke through every time she was around. Often, it was annoyance if she was awake. She loved to press my buttons, to exert her will, and to push back. I had to admit, at times, she amused me. She was little, but she was fierce, as if her anger made her forget her size.
She shifted, the blanket falling away, exposing her shoulder. The bruise on her arm was fading, but it reminded me of what she had gone through. She was stronger than I gave her credit for. She refused to let what happened break her, instead fought back and tried to find a sense of normalcy in this place that was new and strange to her.
Like going shopping to buy some clothes.
I approached the bed, tugging the blanket up over her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled sweetly, drowsy and sexy-looking in my bed.
That was the biggest thing. The desire I felt for her. It was a never-ending burning sensation under my skin. It simmered and bubbled away until it exploded—usually after one of our sparring matches. But it was always there. I was aware of her everywhere. Even when I was out of the room or downstairs, I knew where she was—as if my body was aligned to hers.
I hunched down, touching her cheek. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”
“Are you still mad at me?”
“No. I took it out on the punching bag. I’m going to go have a shower.”
I kissed her cheek and stood, tossing my clothes into the hamper and heading to the bathroom.
“Marcus?”
I turned. She had sat up, the blanket falling away. Her full breasts were on display, and she didn’t try to cover them. My cock noticed, beginning to stir.
“Do you want me to come wash your back?” she asked, dropping her gaze to my crotch, then meeting my eyes. “Or help wash, ah, other things?”
“That might lead to something else entirely.”
She pushed off the bed, standing in front of me. Naked, brave, and lovely despite the lingering marks. Artless in her sexiness, filling me with the need to be with her again. I wanted to feel her hands on me under the hot water. To run mine over her tempting body. I held out my hand, smiling when she closed the gap between us and took it. I eyed her, my hunger for her growing quickly. She met my ravenous gaze with one of her own, the green in her eyes bright with desire.
I was going to enjoy this shower.
“Tell me about your parents.”
We were lying in bed, the evening descending around us. The shower had been long, loud, and we’d ended up as dirty as when we started. Missy might not have a great deal of experience, but her quick learning had me leaning against the wall, groaning her name, unable to look at her as she wrapped her lips around my cock and proceeded to give me the best blow job I had ever experienced. It was as if her naïveté added to the pleasure. Something about her innocent touches, hesitant exploration, then enthusiastic enjoyment caught me off guard and did something strange to my chest. I’d had to keep my gaze focused elsewhere, or I would have blown in less than a minute if I did more than sneak a look at her. I responded in kind, and she had cried out my name, the hold she had on my hair almost painful as she tugged and rode out her orgasms.
Yes, two of them.
I gave her a third with my cock buried inside her, pulling out, before I ejaculated all over her stomach and thighs. By that time, the water was cool, and we had to rinse off quickly. She still felt the cold fast.
I bent an arm under my head, mirroring her position. “What do you want to know?”
“When did they die?” she asked quietly.
“I was seventeen. My dad had a heart attack one day in the restaurant and died in my mother’s arms. She never got over it. She couldn’t bear to go to the restaurant anymore and closed it. She died six months later.”