Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
I rock my hips against him as he continues to drive into me, shifting his hips and hitting the right spot inside me. I dig my nails into his back and moan, a keening, wailing sound I don’t recognize but know came from me.
“Oh, God.”
“No, Austin. Say it,” he says, pulling out and pausing.
“Austin!” His name on my lips triggers something primal inside him, and he plunges into me over and over again, triggering my orgasm almost immediately. “Oh, God, I feel you.”
He groans and takes me harder, my inner walls contracting around him, causing the most exquisite sensations to sweep over me.
His rhythmic thrusts continue until he expels a harsh breath and comes hard, his hips grinding into me over and over until he collapses, his big body covering mine.
He pulls himself together quickly, rolling to the side because he obviously knows he is crushing me. “Be right back.”
He disappears and returns quickly, kneeling down and scooping me into his arms.
“Where are we going?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“To bed so I can rest up and do this all over again.” He heads not for the small bedroom I chose for my own but the big master one on the other side of the single-story cabin.
We fall into bed, a tangle of limbs, and pass out, until I awake to the most delicious feeling of his mouth on my sex, licking me awake and into an almost immediate unexpected orgasm. And after I come down from that one, he is inside me again, turning me upside down with his skill and attention and essentially ruining me for all other men.
Chapter Eight
Mia
I wake up first. I roll over and realize I am sore from the night’s activities. I also remember my last thought before falling asleep for the night… and know I’m not wrong. There is something special between Austin and me, something I doubt I’ll find again with any other man. He is in tune with my body, my emotions, and attentive to what I need and when. I am falling for the man, and it isn’t hard to do. Not when I am living in his house, taking care of his daughter, and caring about everything he is going through with his ex.
But that is the crux of the problem. His ex-wife ruined him for future relationships. He made that clear to me before sleeping with me, so I have no one to blame but myself if he is coming to mean more to me than an easy fling.
I push myself out of bed, leaving the sexy man sleeping on his back. The sheet dips to his waist, revealing the corded muscles, hot tattoo, and sexy sprinkling of hair trailing down to his waist. He flung one arm over his eyes as if covering them from the incoming sun from the window. He breathes in and out in a deep sleep.
I smile at the sight, turn and head for the room where I put my things, and take a hot shower in the spare bathroom. I change into a faded pair of jeans and a red and black flannel shirt, tying my damp hair up in a messy bun. Then I walk into the kitchen to make breakfast for us both, determined to put my emotions on lockdown as I often did as a child.
Yes, my childhood was fine, but I learned to wrap up my feelings and store them in mental boxes with tight lids that wouldn’t, couldn’t open up and spill out all the painful things that could hurt me.
Like Christmas, when all the kids at school listed their many gifts, and I knew I was fortunate to get the one item I received from my foster family. I heard stories from the social workers who spoke in hushed voices about the kids who weren’t as fortunate, who didn’t celebrate Christmas or receive anything for the holiday.
So I told myself I didn’t care about the number of items, that it was the thought and the one I got that mattered. Then I boxed up the pain I felt listening to the others, the hurt that came when I thought about how my parents weren’t alive to celebrate with, and pushed it all aside.
And now, as I crack eggs for our omelets, I box up my growing feelings for Austin because he can never, will never reciprocate them, and tell myself to be grateful for now. For this weekend in the cabin and my time alone with him. Soon enough, we’ll have to deal with the problems that await us back home.
“Good morning!” Austin strides into the kitchen, freshly showered, his hair damp, wearing a pair of jeans that look sexy on his muscular frame and a dark grape-colored Henley.
He looks good enough to eat.