Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
He tears his mouth away from mine, breathing so hard his chest heaves. His eyes are wild, pupils blown black, and he stares at me like he’s trying to memorize every detail.
“Are you sure?” His voice is rough as gravel, but there’s something soft in it, too. A thread of care. “After I make you mine, I’m fucking keeping you.”
That sounds like heaven. There’s nothing in the universe I want more than him. “I want you,” I say, and my voice comes out thick and shaky. “I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my life.”
His jaw flexes, like he’s fighting for control. “Say it again.”
I stare right back, daring him. “I want you. Here. Now.”
He grins, wolfish and sharp, then scoops me up like I weigh nothing. I yelp, wrapping my arms around his neck as he carries me out of the dining room, through the silent, shadowed house, and up the stairs two at a time. My heart is hammering so hard it drowns out everything else.
We reach his bedroom, and he kicks the door open, sets me down just inside the threshold, and lets it click closed behind us. The soft lamplight makes everything glow, golden and honey, and for a second, he just looks at me, taking it all in.
I’m breathing hard, flushed and trembling, but I’ve never felt more alive.
He doesn’t give me time to be nervous. He closes the last inch between us and kisses me again, slower this time, like he wants to savor every damn second. His hands are gentler, too. One cups my cheek, and his thumb traces my jaw, while the other draws lazy circles up and down my spine.
He pulls back just enough to whisper, “I’ve been dying for a taste of you.”
I slide my hands up his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath my fingers. “Then hurry up and get to it,” I whisper as my patience evaporates.
He kisses me, deep and thorough, and the last of my doubts melts away.
We’re in this together now.
He’s so gentle with me, which is ridiculous considering the size and strength of him. He lays me down on the bed like I’m precious cargo, then stretches out beside me, propped on one elbow. The mattress dips beneath us, just enough to tip me toward his heat, and the whole room smells like him—soap, cologne, and something sharp and dark that settles into my bones.
For a moment, he just watches me. No words, no pressure, just that intense stare, as if he wants to memorize every detail. I feel bare, even fully clothed, but it’s not a bad feeling. Not even a little. For the first time in years, I want someone to see me exactly as I am.
He reaches out, brushes his fingers across my jaw. His touch is feather-light, as if he’s not sure I’ll let him get away with it. I grab his wrist and press his palm to my cheek, firm. I want more, not less.
He takes the cue, leans down, and kisses me again, but now it’s slow, deliberate. He takes his time, exploring my mouth, teasing out little sounds I didn’t even know I could make. His hands map the slope of my neck, the curve of my shoulder, sliding up into my hair to tilt my head the way he wants. When he finally breaks the kiss, we’re both breathing hard, like we’ve run a marathon without moving.
I reach for his shirt and try to pull it off, but the buttons are stubborn, and my fingers are clumsy. He laughs, low and rough, and bats my hands away so he can do it himself. The sound makes me bold, so I grab the hem and tug until he lifts his arms and lets me peel it off. His body steals my breath. Broad shoulders. Chest dusted with dark hair. Scars old and new mapped across his skin. A tiny, pale line right over his ribs that I want to kiss, so I do.
He hisses in a breath, eyes going glassy for a second. “You keep doing that, and I’m going to lose it,” he warns.
I grin up at him. “Maybe I want you to.”
He shakes his head, grinning back, then leans down so his nose nuzzles my throat. His hands work my shirt over my head, tangling a little in my hair, but I don’t care. I’ve never been more aware of my own skin than in this moment. His touch is reverent and greedy at the same time. He traces every inch like he’s committing it to memory.
He kisses down my neck, over my collarbone, nipping lightly at my shoulder. I arch into him, desperate for more, and he chuckles, hot breath ghosting over my chest. He slides his hands under my bra and cups me, thumbs brushing over the fabric until my nipples go tight and aching.