Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
We break apart, gasping. I don’t let go. My fist stays knotted in his shirt, knuckles white. Our faces are inches apart, breath mixing. He stares at me like I’m the only thing in the room that matters.
No jokes. No snappy comebacks. Just the thud of my heart slamming against my ribs and the absolute certainty that if I let go, I’ll regret it.
So, I don’t.
I let the silence hang for one long, wild second.
Then I turn, still holding his hand like a lifeline, and tow him toward my bedroom door.
The world shrinks to the two of us. I can feel the prickle of his gaze at my back, can hear him breathing just behind my left shoulder. His body crowds the doorway, but he doesn’t wait for an invitation. He just follows, pulse and heat, the bigness of him making the whole room feel even smaller. He’s so close I can feel the air move between us. I take a step back and hit the edge of my bed with my knees.
I turn to face him. My heart’s in my throat, but I keep my eyes on his, lit up and hungry, like I’m the only thing he wants to look at. For a second, we just stare at each other, the silence heavy enough to knock me over.
Our mouths crash together. This is pure, electric need. My hands slide up, knotting in his hair, and I don’t care about anything except the way he tastes and the way his hands are already on my hips, pinning me right where he wants me.
He groans deep in his chest, and the sound lights up every nerve ending I’ve got. His body is all around me, solid, hot, unyielding. He’s not leading, not performing, just giving it back to me, every ounce of it.
I freaking love it. I want more. It’s a little scary how addicting Harrison Stafford is.
I fight to unbutton his shirt. He reaches between us and helps out. Once we get the last button undone, I push the shirt off his shoulders, fingers grazing his skin as I go. My hands tingle at the heat of him. Harrison’s torso is all thick muscle, and I slowly slide my fingers over every inch.
His palm finds my shoulder blade, fingers spreading wide, but he barely presses. He just wants the connection, nothing else. I can feel him track my every breath, every flicker of movement. It’s almost sweet. Almost. “Are you sure?” He groans as I drag my fingernails down his chest.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He groans my name. Then his mouth crashes into mine, all teeth and tongue, no more pretending. He kisses like he wants to ruin me, and I’m here for it. I fist my hands in his hair, dragging him closer, greedy for everything he has to give.
He moves with purpose, hands sliding under my shirt, palms hot, and then he’s yanking it up and over my head. I gasp, break the kiss for one wild second. My hair falls loose, gets caught in the collar, but he makes quick work of it, letting it tumble down around my shoulders. There’s a flare in his eyes that burns me from the inside out.
He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at the way my frilly bra barely covers anything. His hands roam, thumbs tracing the top of the lace, then he drops his head and kisses my neck, my collarbone, nipping at the skin until I squirm.
His fingers work my pants open, rough and desperate, and then he’s dragging them down my legs, slow and showy, like he wants to make me squirm for it. Every inch of me is burning up as he strips me bare.
He presses me back on the bed, and I let him, loving the way his body brackets mine, all heat and hardness and need. He just stands there, eyes wild, and then hooks his thumbs in his waistband, shoving his jeans down.
Harrison’s jeans hit the floor with a thunk, and I about black out from the sight of him. Holy cow. If he was impressive before, seeing him stripped down to nothing but stretched gray boxer briefs and raw, unfiltered need is a nuclear-grade shock to my system.
For one wild second, we just stare at each other. His eyes are locked on me, his desire so hot it feels like they could burn right through my skin and straight into my soul.
I expect him to pounce, to devour, but he hangs back. Breath ragged. Waiting. Giving me the wheel.
Fine. I’ll drive.
I arch my back, just a little, enough to make the mattress creak and my breasts threaten to spill out of the ridiculous lace bra. His mouth drops open; the sound he makes is half-moan, half-curse, and all hunger.
He comes closer, moving slowly, like a predator savoring the kill. One knee hits the bed, then the other, the weight of him shoving the air right out of the room.