Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
He’s so quiet, and the silence makes me nervous enough to keep speaking.
“You’ve spent over ten years sworn to secrecy, never telling a soul, but now…” And now you’ve told me. After avoiding the subject every time I tried to bring it up. “I didn’t even have to ask.”
His fingers trail my shoulders. “You asked plenty of times, Pages. You wore me down.”
His tired smile says he’s joking.
“Is that a good thing?” I smile back.
His laugh comes slow, like it’s being dragged through him, but there’s a warm, honeyed edge to it. He cradles my head in his hands.
“Maybe you’re just the first woman I trusted.”
“Me?” The word lodges in my throat.
“Yes, you, Hattie Sage.” He bends down so his lips brush mine. “Guess you proved something by taking on this fake marriage fuckery with me despite the risks. For having an open mind and open heart.”
“You’re paying me to do that. Very generously, I might add.”
His eyes unexpectedly soften.
“Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just this fake engagement shit getting to my head. I don’t know. I don’t have a list of reasons mapped out. All I know is I had to tell you. If I ever want to move on and close the chapter like one of your damn books, it had to come out.”
I grab his face softly, just kissing him and kissing him and kissing him forever.
There are times when words can’t compete with warm, charged lips.
His mouth on mine.
My tongue frolicking with his.
Two souls swirled together like paint smears, forming brilliant new colors.
Usually, our dynamic shows me what he wants. He uses his body to communicate, and I give it to him.
But today, it’s different.
This time, I show him what I want.
I’m the one guiding him back until he’s backed against the counter.
He’s big enough to stop me, but he doesn’t. Maybe because he needs this too.
Me.
I want him to need me.
Yes, I know that’s selfish, but there’s no innocence when there’s so much emotion erupting out of a man who has your heart in his palms.
He’s already hard when I slide my hand down his body.
When I grip him, I shudder.
I run my hand up the length of his magnificent cock, letting his groan melt in my mouth. His hips jerk forward, seeking the pressure, the friction.
I fumble with the button to his pants, and instead of helping me out, he lets me move at my own pace.
He helps me pull open his pants, yanking them down.
Then his boxers.
Then his shirt, until he’s naked and ready to be worshipped.
I take him in my hand, loving how his eyes flare.
“Hattie.” He whispers my name gruffly, but I see his naked desire, burning like a flame.
My own lust must be kerosene.
I give him another long stroke, watching his muscles flex.
His chiseled abs ripple, and I can almost sense the restraint he needs not to push himself into my palm.
I don’t care what’s going on with our fake engagement—there’s nothing make-believe about this.
Nothing fake about the fairy-tale way he looks at me now.
My throat closes as I pull off my dress.
This mutual lust is a visceral thing, a stormfront demanding release, and there’s something inevitable about the wind, the lightning, the way he’ll soon be pelting every inch of my body with passion.
Once I’m naked, I hop up on the marble island.
I’m almost the same height as him up here, and he rewards me for being so eager, sliding a hand to my clit as I stroke him again.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “You keep this so wet and hot on demand, Pages. Never fucking stop.”
I shudder.
“I need you inside me.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
This is for both of us, a need for more.
With one hand at the nape of my neck, he pushes a finger inside, then two, and I arch against him.
My breasts brush the wall of his chest, sending electricity arcing through me.
Heat pools between my legs.
Oh, it won’t take much today.
With my free hand, I take his cock again and stroke him, this time faster.
Moisture beads at the tip, and he’s almost painfully hard now, pulsing in my hand like an angry animal.
We kiss, teeth nipping, breaths catching as we work each other over, until I can’t take it anymore.
I need him to fill me.
I’m obsessed since we dropped the condoms, crazed to have him skin-on-skin, to feel him pour out inside me.
“Now!” I whisper, biting his bottom lip. His growl sends fire through me. “Now, Ethan.”
He removes his fingers, putting them to his mouth so he can taste me.
With eyes cut from pure midnight locked on mine, he pushes inside my pussy.
Filling me.
I groan at how good, how right, how worthy he makes me feel.
This is what I need, more than my next breath.
This is where he should be—where he belongs.
This is where we consummate a truth we’re only starting to put into words.