Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
Fuck it.
My hand slides from her jaw to the back of her neck, pulling her closer to me. The second our mouths touch, my control fractures.
I've imagined kissing her like this, but all those fantasies—even the filthiest ones—don't come close to reality.
Nothing ever will.
Her hands come up to my chest, and her fists tangle in my shirt. A small sound escapes her throat—a whimper that destroys what's left of my restraint. I deepen the kiss, drawing her closer, coaxing her lips to open. The moment she does, I plunge my tongue inside her warm mouth and entangle it with hers.
Emily's fingers thread into my hair, nails scraping my scalp, as I groan into her mouth.
The kiss turns hungry, rough, and demanding. All those months of watching, wanting, compressed into this moment. I pull her closer still and angle her head for better access. The kiss turns almost frantic.
We eventually break for air in what feels like hours later, foreheads pressed together, both breathing hard. Her eyes are still closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
3
EMILY
Alex's forehead rests against mine, his breath hot on my lips. The space between us crackles with electricity—wait, that’s a cliché. There’s actually no electricity. Except maybe between synapses in my nervous system. Just heat and want, and the thundering of my heart and my pulse, so bangingly loud I'm sure he can hear it and feel it.
I can't think. That kiss just demolished every fantasy I've had about this man, and I've had plenty. The reality of Alex's mouth on mine, his hand cradling the back of my neck, the barely restrained power in his touch ... it makes my imagination look pathetic by comparison.
Like really, really pathetic.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and those gray eyes are almost black now, pupils blown wide.
"Emily…"
I should say something witty or sexy or at least coherent, but the last of my brain cells has withered and died. Instead, I surge forward and kiss him again.
This time, there's nothing careful about it. His hand tightens on my neck, his other gripping my hip hard enough I know I'll find fingerprints tomorrow—the thought makes me dizzy with want. My hands find the front of his shirt again, fingers fumbling with buttons. I need to touch him, need skin contact like I need air.
The scratch of his stubble burns against my face, and it feels exactly like I imagined when I wrote that stupid card—exactly right. His tongue slides against mine, and I whimper into his mouth, embarrassingly needy.
Alex responds by dragging me closer until I'm practically in his lap. My dress rides up, probably exposing my non-flattering parts, and I should care about that, but I absolutely don't. Not when his hand slides to my thigh, fingers tracing just under the hem of my lace underwear. Brand new, by the way. And a little too expensive for my typical underwear purchase…But, I digress, back to the plot…
"Come closer," he whispers against my mouth, shifting, pulling me fully onto his lap so I'm straddling him.
Oh. OH.
Dear God.
The new position puts me right against the hard ridge of his cock through his pants, and my body reacts without my permission. My hips roll, seeking pressure, friction, anything.
The small movement pulls a groan from deep in his chest. "Fuck, Emily."
Huh. He's the groaning type, I guess.
His mouth finds the sensitive spot along my neck, and I tilt my head back to give him better access. My hands finally conquer the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open to reveal his chest—the tattoos I glimpsed through his thin running shirts and muscle tees, and spun into my fantasies, now right under my palms.
And yes, this man was created by the gods themselves. No, you cannot convince me otherwise.
I trace the patterns and swirls with trembling fingers, feeling the solid muscle beneath warm skin. His mouth travels lower to my collarbone, then to the swell of my breast just above the neckline of my dress.
My nipples tighten painfully against my bra, aching for his touch, and I arch into him.
"Alex, oh God—"
His hands grip my thighs, and suddenly I'm weightless. He stands with me in his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically, locking at the ankles. The position presses us together more firmly, and we both make sounds that would be embarrassing in any other context.
Three steps to my bed—the perils and benefits of a studio apartment. He lays me down and follows me onto the mattress, his body covering mine. His weight feels like an anchor, grounding me when I might otherwise float away.
Alex's mouth finds mine again, and if anything, his kiss only turns rougher and hungrier. My hands explore his chest, his shoulders, pushing his shirt off completely. When my fingers find the scar on his right forearm, he stiffens slightly, and I soften my touch, tracing the raised tissue.