Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I’ve been assuming that loving Tyler meant I had to refuse everything after him. That wanting comfort, desire, protection, and love was proof I’d failed him. But Tyler wouldn’t have wanted me to be lonely or afraid, and the men I’ve been falling for are men he called brothers.
I touch Weston’s face, and he leans into it. His eyes close, and the trust in his actions almost breaks me all over again.
“I don’t want guilt to be the thing that rules my life,” I whisper.
His eyes open, and he moves a hand closer to my thigh. “Good. Because I don’t like watching it hurt you.”
I laugh softly through the last of my tears, and then I kiss him.
His hands are careful at first, one sliding to the back of my neck and the other settling at my waist, but when I open for him, the kiss deepens in a way that steals my breath.
It’s not frantic, and not desperate in the way Buck’s kiss felt, like he was pushed to the edge of control. Weston kisses me like we have all the time in the world. Like he intends to map every inch of me.
Dinner all but forgotten, he draws me to my feet and keeps me close, with one hand spanning my back while the other smooths over my hair and cups my head.
When he kisses the corner of my mouth, my cheek, and the line of my jaw, it’s with a patience so intimate that heat unfurls through me in a long, helpless wave.
His fingers slip under the bottom of my shirt and pause. “Do you want me to stop?”
I shake my head. “No, don’t stop.”
He kisses me again, then pulls back, saying, “Safety first.”
He dampens his fingers in his water glass, then pinches out the candle flames one by one, like the heat doesn’t bother him at all. When that’s done, he scoops me up in his arms and carries me out to the living room, where he sits down in the center of the couch and brings me onto his lap.
He rests his hands at my waist, helping me stay balanced as I move onto my knees and straddle his thighs. When I’m settled, he slides his hands up to my face and holds me there as he carries on kissing me until I’m dizzy and trembling with want.
He kisses and touches me like each moment is a discovery, and he’s cherishing what he’s found. His mouth and his hands make me feel precious, not fragile.
But beneath all his tenderness, there’s heat. It’s hot and unmistakable, but he keeps it contained while he makes me feel utterly desired with no pressure. He lets me melt at my own pace, and I do.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, as his mouth heats a trail along the side of my neck. It’s an area where I often hold stress, but Weston eases every last bit of tension out of me and fills all the space with pleasure, and we’re still fully dressed, just kissing.
Carefully, he slides the band off the end of my braid and starts unraveling my hair from the bottom. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he says, as his fingers slowly work their way through the twists.
“You don’t like how I wear my hair?” I’m only half-teasing, but his immediate and enthusiastic response makes me smile.
“I fucking love your braid, and I’m going to love seeing your hair all wild and loose.”
When it’s all unraveled, he slides his hands into it and leans back to look me over. His eyelids are heavy with lust, and in that moment, I decide I don’t have nearly as much discipline as he does.
I slide my hips forward, seeking what I know I’ll find. Beneath his jeans, his cock is stiff, and as I press myself against it, it turns rock hard.
Still gripping a handful of my hair, Weston’s head falls back against the cushion with a groan.
I brace myself with a hand on each side of his head and kiss him. When I roll my hips against him, he cups my ass and tugs me even closer, making me groan, too.
“Want to take this into the bedroom?” His voice is all thick and gravelly, and notches up my excitement even more.
I shake my head, find the button on his pants, and work it open. When I start pulling down his zipper, he stops my hand.
“Me later. You now.” In a smooth maneuver, he flips me so that I’m lying on my back on the couch, and he’s kneeling by my legs. He positions a nearby fleece throw under me, then slides my pants down my hips, taking my underwear with them, and pulls them free of my feet.
“Beautiful Elena.” He whispers this as he strokes his rough palms over the bare skin of my hips, then down my legs, to spread them apart. “Can I taste you?”