Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I’ll be leaving him regardless. If not today, then definitely on Sunday. A few days more will only make this worse. I’ve had boyfriends before; I know when I’m in danger of losing my head over a guy. And I know it’s never been as strong as this. Usually, the start of a relationship is the best part for me. Attraction is a heady rush, a kind of giddy high—like going out and dancing all night. You know it will end eventually. It’s just part of the process, a little built-in fail-safe to keep me from getting too attached.
Only with Dex? I don’t like the idea of us having an end date. At all.
I struggle to swallow past the panic. I’m so deep in my own fear that I don’t hear him until he’s walking into my room.
Fresh from a shower at the gym, his sun-streaked hair is damp and neatly swept back in that Samurai bun. He’s wearing a navy T-shirt with a graphic of a big, green Hulk fist smashing through cinder blocks. I’m betting Gray gave it to him.
I’m also betting Dex is wearing it now because Gray gave it to him. Dex is like that—the big papa bear who makes sure those in his circle know they’re loved and appreciated.
The pain in my throat grows. I slip my hands between my knees and press hard to keep from reaching for him.
There’s a smile in his eyes. But he clearly sees that something is wrong, and he halts. Instantly, his gaze scans the room as if he knows he needs to search out any possible threat.
His eyes cut to the packed suitcase on the floor, and a line forms between his thick brows. “You’re leaving?”
He sounds so incredulous, his voice lighter with shock, his body visibly recoiling like I’ve slapped him. I did that to him. I hate myself for that.
Talking proves harder than expected. “Work emergency.”
The line between his brows gets deeper, and he puts his hands low on his hips in the way guys do, his stance wide. His fists are clenched tight enough to make his knuckles white, and I get the feeling he’s trying not to grab my bag and hurl it back into the closet.
I want to do the same. But I’m cutting and running like a coward instead.
Dex’s eyes meet mine. Already he has such power over me. One look and I want to walk into his embrace, beg him to fuck me, make me forget about everything and everyone. It would be so easy. I know he’d do it.
His low voice slides over the distance between us. “Why are you really leaving?”
Am I that obvious? Apparently so.
“I . . . Shit.” Standing, I take a deep breath and blurt it out. “I think we made a mistake.” My voice is overloud and desperate.
“Why?” His question is stark, as if ripped from him. “It was good. I know it was better than good—”
“Oh, God.” I hold up my hand to stop him from saying more. “It’s not that. Ethan . . .” I run a hand through my hair. I’m so clammy, my skin snags along the strands. “It was too good.”
He takes a step forward, his head tilting as he peers at me. “I’m not sure I get why too good is a mistake.”
“Because I’m going to want so-fucking-fantastic-my-knees-are-still-weak every day.”
At this, his lips quirk, a gleam lighting his eyes, and I fight a smile. “I’m kind of selfish like that.”
Another step and he’s almost within touching distance, but he comes no farther. “Still not seeing the problem, Cherry.” His voice goes dark. “I’ll give it to you every day. Several times a day, if I have a say in the matter.”
He’s slowly coming closer, as if he’s afraid I’ll bolt. I want to. As it is, I press a hand to his solid chest. The instant I touch him, all my happy parts clench tight and hot. But I hold his gaze, don’t let him duck down to kiss me. “That’s the problem, Big Guy. You can’t. You won’t be where I am. And I . . .”
Dex’s soft lips brush against mine, stealing the breath from me.
“And I . . .” I try again. “I’ll miss it too much.”
Again, he kisses me, a slow, melting nuzzle of lips. Soothing, tempting. Despite myself, I cup his cheek, stroke along his beard. His big, warm hand holds the back of my neck, keeping me steady as he gives me another kiss. No tongue, just mouth to mouth, an exchange of air. Just enough to let me feel.
“I’m kissing you,” he whispers against my lips, “and already I miss you.”
A ragged breath leaves me, and I break away from him. Not that he lets me go far. He holds my cheeks and presses his forehead to mine. With his great height, the action makes it seem as though he’s sheltering me, his broad shoulders hunched, his thick arms surrounding me.