Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I take a gulp, then another. I’ve not drunk a ton of bubbles like this, but it doesn’t taste any different from any prosecco I’ve had, which has been left over after parties. But what do I know? I’m most likely the first person in my family to drink champagne.
Dragging her hand along my abs when she passes, Sosie strides into the living room, sits in a chair, and spins to face the window. She props her feet up on the sill and sips her champagne, looking every bit the natural in this setting.
Effortlessly gorgeous with her hair tucked behind one ear. A shine that the champagne left behind on her lips. At ease in her own skin. The deep V of the fuzzy black sweater that covers her gives a peek at the top she’s wearing beneath. It’s the skin of her collarbone that I’m only given a glimpse of that tempts me to undress her.
Not liking the distance between us, I return to the window and sit on the wide ledge of the windowsill, more interested in the view of her than New York City. She’s brighter and more vibrant to look at. Stretching out my legs, I take another sip, watching her over the lip of the glass. When I lower it, her eyes still stare ahead as if she doesn’t mind me admiring her for so long. I say, “Nice place.” I’m not sure if calling a place her dad owns as an escape from his family “nice” is appropriate, but the apartment didn’t choose this life.
The smile she’s been wearing most of the night has settled into a straight line as if unwanted thoughts are getting the better of her. Her eyes slide to mine. “It’s where my dad brings his girlfriends.” His preclusions might have been a battle she once fought, but judging by the resolve in her tone, she gave up on that fight. It’s not her job to fix her dad’s mess anyway. I learned that lesson the hard way.
We hold eye contact long enough for one of us to chicken out and look away, but neither of us does. I do blink first, though. “I’m sorry.”
She takes another sip, not leaving much left in the glass, and asks, “Why would you be sorry?”
“Because at some point, you found out your dad is an asshole. Sucks when a kid has that realization dropped in their lap.” I finish my drink, needing to drown the memories threatening to reach the surface of my present-day life.
Lowering her boots to the floor, she sits forward, bringing her closer to me. Not close enough for my liking. A half-hearted smile crosses her lips. “I can handle him cheating, but someone feeling sorry for me is the worst.” It is the worst, and that’s not how I want her to feel when she’s with me.
“C’mere.”
She stands, setting her glass down before easing between my legs and resting her arm over my shoulder. Her smile returns when she looks at me.
Never thought I’d be given the opportunity to stare at the sun without getting burned. But look at me now, basking in her sunshine. I rest my hand on her hip, sliding it higher under the hem of the sweater, but stop at her waist to give a little squeeze and evoke a softer laugh.
She sits on my thigh, perched like a prize I didn’t earn. The sound of her swallowing is barely heard under my own harsh gulp. “Why'd you bring me here, Spark?”
She smiles, running the tips of her nails through the hair over my ears. She slides them to the back of my head, and whispers, "Are you settling on Spark?"
"Seems fitting since everything leads back to the spark we share. The cigarette out back, the sparkler on top of your cake, and let’s be honest, the heat that’s been building between us. It always comes back to fire with you."
“The fire between us.” The exhilaration that brightened her eyes earlier is still there, but the energy has shifted. She has me craving more than her kiss. I want everything—to kiss, to fuck, to appreciate every inch of her. She runs a fingertip over my lips while desire clouds her eyes. As her chest rises with heavier breaths, it falls harder on release and readjusts on my leg. The relief she seeks, though, isn’t going to be found with us sitting here. "You're not afraid of getting burned?"
I'm already shaking my head, accepting the dangers of playing with fire when she showed up in combat boots, looking fucking gorgeous, and bummed a cigarette. "No risk. No reward. It'll be worth the pain."
“If you’re lucky.”
“Luck has nothing to do with us.” I smile in a failing attempt to lessen the need I have growing inside me. Be a gentleman, Keats. But with her situated right on my dick, she’s making it damn hard. Literally. “We create our own destiny.”