Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
That crack in her voice hits harder than the smoke-filled kitchen.
Pushing off the wall, I cross to the bed and sink onto the edge. “Come here, Goldilocks.”
She lets me draw her in, her arms still folded tight across her chest like armor.
My thumbs trace slow circles against her thigh. “Listen, I appreciate what you were trying to do, but you don’t need to pull off some five-star dinner for me. I don’t give a damn what’s on the table. Sandwich, spaghetti, burned toast. I’ll eat anything, as long as it’s with you.”
Her expression shifts, the hard lines softening. “I know. I just wanted to do something nice after the long week you had, but I should’ve known better. I’m not Suzy Homemaker. Never have been, never will be.”
She acts like it’s a flaw, as if not fitting into some cookie-cutter role means she’s failed.
“Fuck Suzy Homemaker.” The words fire out, hard and certain. “That bitch is overrated. I’ll take Sassy-Spaghetti Harlow any day.”
That earns me a laugh, fragile, but real, the sound landing bone deep.
She tips her head back on a sigh, glaring at the ceiling like it personally betrayed her. “All this trouble over a stupid pot roast.”
My mouth curves, slow and deliberate as I tug her closer. “Would it help if I told you I brought a present?”
Her chin dips, gaze meeting mine again. “A present?”
I nod.
“What kind of present?”
My hand slips into my pocket, fingers closing around the small box before I pull it free and place it in her palm.
She cuts me a look, suspicion edging toward curiosity. “What have you done, Masters?”
“Open it and find out.”
A faint smile plays at her lips as she lowers onto my lap, settling across my thighs before flipping the lid open.
Her breath catches at the necklace inside—a silver chain, delicate and bright, with a small glass orb hanging at its center. Three tiny white dandelion seeds float within, frozen mid-flight, anchored by a slender silver tag etched with three words: Make a wish.
“I found it at a little shop in Lancaster.” The words are barely there, my gaze fixed on every flicker that crosses her face.
Her fingers tremble as she lifts it free, lashes fluttering with the threat of tears, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s holding. “It’s perfect…”
I take the chain from her hands, snapping the clasp open. She doesn’t need me to ask—she sweeps her hair over one shoulder, baring the graceful line of her neck.
The clasp clicks shut, my fingers grazing her skin before my mouth brushes a kiss there. “Now you can make wishes every day, no matter the month.”
A soft sound slips past her lips, her hand closing over the globe like she’s afraid it might disappear.
“Thank you,” she whispers, voice breaking. “No one’s ever given me something this nice before.”
The confession slams into me, my thumb catching the tears on her cheeks. “That’s a goddamn crime, Goldilocks. You should’ve had a hundred gifts like this by now.”
Her gaze holds mine, heavy with trust and something deeper, before she catches the hem of her shirt and lifts it in one slow motion, baring herself to me—fully and completely.
The sight punches the air from my lungs. “Jesus…”
She’s goddamn perfection, stripped down to nothing but the necklace—silver glinting against warm skin, the glass orb resting above her breasts like it was always meant to live there, claiming her as mine.
My hand lifts, thumb brushing the pendant before skimming lower, tracing the peak of her breast.
Her teeth catch her bottom lip, a devastating moan slipping free. I claim the sound with my mouth, the kiss hard and hungry. She’s right there with me, her tongue meeting every thrust.
“Need you,” she murmurs, her hands sliding beneath my shirt.
I break from her mouth only long enough to rip it over my head, then I’m pulling her back in, chest to chest, skin to skin, our groans breaking on the same breath.
“Christ, Harlow…” My voice scrapes against my throat, hoarse with everything she makes me feel. “Your skin’s so damn soft, baby. I could spend a lifetime getting lost in it.”
“Good,” she breathes, arching closer. “Because I never want you to stop touching me.”
Stopping isn’t an option. Not with her. Not now. Not ever.
My hands slide up her ribs, cupping the soft weight of her breasts before my mouth closes over one candy pink nipple.
Her cry fractures the quiet, fingers fisting in my hair as she holds me captive.
I give her what she wants, feasting like I’ll never get enough, tongue and teeth drawing her apart until she’s trembling against me.
“Now.” Her whisper is breathless, urgent. “Please.”
The two words sear through me, burning away the last of my restraint.
The rest of our clothes are gone in a rush, tangled between ragged breaths and desperate hands.
Then she’s straddling me again, palms pressed to my chest as she sinks down slow, taking me deep.