Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
I mouth, the fuck.
I ask Birdie in the kitchen. “Mom saw me on what news?”
“Some trashy online tabloid, I think. I don’t follow that shit.” He raids the cupboards for anything not expired. “Mom thinks you’re gaunt and bereft. She said you’d probably bust your ass lifting your boyfriend in a Dirty Dancing move. Oh no, wait…I said that.”
“Thanks.” I nod a few times, smiling off his smile, even if it’s at my expense.
“Just that last part was me,” he clarifies. “The rest was Mom.”
“I haven’t played a full set on drums in months,” I defend. “I’m not going to look jacked like I did on The Carraways’ tour.”
“That’s what I told her.” All Birdie finds is a few cans of black beans. Steffi left the mail on the kitchen counter, and I quickly sift through it. Mostly junk, but I find an envelope sent from my mom. I stuff it in my back pocket.
“Later, Bird.”
“Hope you have the best fuck of your life.” Birdie smiles. “And I mean it.” His forearms on the counter, he leans toward me, nodding strongly. “Go make all your dreams come true, big brother.”
Something about those words stay with me all the way to Hell’s Kitchen.
To Tom’s fancy high-rise.
Up to his apartment. 2166.
The door swings open, and I clench my jaw to keep from charging at Tom like a mustang let out of a gate.
His blue eyes sparkle with so much light. I’m inches from his tousled golden-brown hair I want to fist. Inches from his beautiful face I want to hold. Inches from his white long-sleeved tee I want to rip off. Inches from his lips I want to kiss.
“Hey,” Tom says, his chest rising with a sharp intake of breath.
“Hey.” I want him. On him, in him. I need Tom more than I’ve needed anything in my whole life in this second.
He backs up, a smirk edging his face like he already knows what’s coursing through my head. “Starved for me?” He has no fucking idea. His eyes drop to my lips. “Green light.”
I bolt toward him, and we collide like two comets in the sky, my hands sliding along his face. I crush my mouth against his, and the impatient, desperate sound out of Tom’s body feels like a secret chorus. I want my ears waterlogged with those eager noises, with no way to shake them out.
“Fuck, dude,” Tom grips my shirt, gasping for breath.
“Too fast?” I’m walking him backward toward his room while undoing his belt.
“Not fast enough. All gas, all gas, all gas—” His plea melts against my lips, and I drag my hand down his smooth jaw.
We’re in his bedroom when I pinch his chin and tilt his head to the left. A long red mark runs across his jawline. “Did you cut yourself shaving?”
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he pants, pulling off his own shirt, then reaching for mine.
I already begin tugging off my Henley. “I wasn’t? You don’t want to show me every fucking part of you?”
Tom clasps my neck, bringing me so close—my forehead bears into his as he murmurs, “J’en avais autant envie que j’ai envie de toi.” I wanted that as much as I want you.
We’re stripped down and against each other in seconds. Flesh on flesh. Muscle on muscle. I’ve been inside him too many times to keep count. Yet, tonight feels as intense as our first time.
I thrust inside of him from behind, running my hand against his gorgeous back tattoo. A delicate, small pair of angelic wings are inked on his shoulder blades, a line of Roman numerals and numbers dripping between them on his spine.
I can’t even taunt him about being a celestial being I’m fucking. We’re so wrapped up in each other. My fingers clench his hair, and I bend toward his parted lips, kissing Tom as I drive deeper into him. Our bodies are slick with sweat, and I have to break off his mouth to let him breathe. His pleasured noises sound so much more undone than I remember.
He’s been reaching back and holding my thigh, my knees digging into the bed on either side of his naked frame. I seize both of his hands and lace our fingers on the bed. Pressing more of my weight against Tom, I grind into him. Flexing deeper, harder.
“Phoenix,” he cries. “Phoenix, dude. I can’t…I’m…”
I cup his face, our eyes consuming one another, and I’m so in love with him. I’ve never loved anyone like I love Tom. “Je t’aime plus que tout,” I whisper tightly, my body on fire against his body. “Je t’aime plus que tout au monde.” I love you more than anything in the world.
His vulnerable cry out says more than any word could.
Sweaty and satiated on his bed, Tom lies against my chest, and I draw my finger down his spine along the tattooed Roman numerals and numbers. His smile is excited but faintly tired.