Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
His fingers grip my waist, curling a little tighter, as if he’s grounding himself in the moment. My hands move to his chest, fisting his shirt, because I want nothing more than to be tethered to this man in every way imaginable for the rest of my life.
Our mouths work together. Our kiss grows warmer, more insistent with each stroke of our tongues. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are and clears your mind of every coherent thought outside of the connection between us.
It’s an intimacy between us built not only on touch but also on emotion and proximity, amplifying everything we’re both feeling without using words.
I don’t know who moves first, but we’re tearing at each other’s clothes. I’m desperate to feel his skin against mine.
“Sisters?” he murmurs against my lips, as he reaches behind me and deftly handles the clasp of my bra.
“Out for the night,” I say, running my hands over his now-bare chest. I roam until I come to the waistband of his shorts. I pop the button and slowly lower the zipper.
I’m wearing a pair of athletic shorts today, which gives him immediate access, as he slides his hand beneath the fabric and gently traces his index finger over the crotch of my panties.
“Fuck, Ells,” he says, slipping his hand beneath the final layer that separates us. He glides his finger through my arousal, and I moan. It’s been far too long since he’s touched me.
Tossing the blanket off my shoulders, I climb off his lap, which earns me a grunt of protest. “I need you naked, James, like five minutes ago.”
He stands, adjusts his hard length, then bends and tosses me over his shoulder. “What my girl wants, my girl gets.” He smacks me on the ass, and I give it right back to him, as my body bounces against his during our trek up the stairs to my room.
“What was wrong with the couch?” I ask when he lowers me to the bed. He sucks a hard nipple into his mouth, and I cry out. The move sends waves of desire through me. I don’t ever remember nipple play feeling this good. “More,” I demand, arching my back, offering my tits to him for the taking.
“Yes, ma’am,” he rumbles, before diving back in for another taste.
All too soon, his mouth and his weight leave me. Lifting onto my elbows, I watch as he strips out of his shorts and boxer briefs and grips his cock. The veins in his forearms make themselves known as he grips his length and tugs.
I lick my lips, and he grins. “What are you thinking about, Ells baby?” he asks, smirking.
He knows exactly what I’m thinking about. “Just wondering if you taste the same on my tongue,” I say, knowing it will drive him wild, and the groan he rewards me with tells me I was right.
He drops his cock and steps toward the bed. “We need to get rid of these.” He reaches for the hem of my shorts, and I lift my hips, allowing him to pull them away. He takes my shorts and panties in one go and drops them to the floor.
His eyes are blazing with desire as he crawls over me. He braces himself on the bed while he stares down at me. “You’re beautiful.”
I smile because “You make me feel beautiful.”
Dropping his head, he pecks my lips with a kiss before shifting to lie next to me. He moves his hands behind his head and watches me intently. I allow my eyes to roam over the hard planes of his body. That’s when I see it—a tattoo on his ribs. I move closer to get a better look, and tears instantly spring to my eyes.
I don’t know how I didn’t notice this before. I mean, I saw he had ink, but my mind was elsewhere, and every other time we’ve been together, even at the Memorial Day cookout, he kept his shirt on. He changed out of his wet shirt, but I wasn’t with him when he did it.
How could I miss this?
“When?” I ask, my throat thick from the emotions building up inside me. My fingers quiver as I gently trace over the vibrant colors that I only caught a glimpse of before, and didn’t know what those colors meant.
Now, I do.
“I came back a second time that I’ve never told anyone about,” he confesses, his voice hoarse with emotion.
“When?” I manage to ask. My throat feels thick, clogged with emotions rising too quickly to contain. My fingers tremble as I trace the lines of the tattoo again, slower this time, letting the colors of each petal bleed into meaning. When I saw them before, they were just shapes, just fragments of color I didn’t understand. Now, they’re an open doorway, leading to insight I didn’t know existed—a truth I hadn’t braced for.