Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
His hold on my wrist isn’t tight, but it’s assertive enough that I don’t attempt to wriggle free. I’m in a steel cage as he tips his head down and studies me. He’s weighing his options, toying with his prey. Will I eat her slowly or tear into her with one big bite?
His eyes never stray from my lips, swollen now that I’ve almost rubbed them raw. I feel faint as he repeats my words from earlier: “I’m going to kiss you. I hope that’s okay.”
It’s nothing but a formality. He doesn’t wait for my reply. Already he bends, lower, lower until our mouths are perfectly aligned. My eyes flutter closed as I inhale his minty breath. I drown in a brief moment of shock that this is really about to happen. Then the thought gets eviscerated with all the others as his lips take possession of mine and he kisses me like he’s waited a lifetime to do it.
Falling.
The sensation is so strong I cling to his shirt with my free hand.
Who are you?
Why is it like this?
How can it be like this?
The questions drift to my periphery as he kisses me tenderly, almost tentatively. There’s so much sweetness in those first few seconds. It’s like he’s easing me into the deep end, ensuring I’m there right along with him, but then my hand fists into his shirt and I pull. It’s a veritable green light, and suddenly, our kiss turns hot and desperate.
There’s a clash of teeth, a bite of pain. Then he has me pinned to the door, his hard body flush with mine as our heads slant in sync. He shrouds me in shadows, but I don’t fear it; I revel in it. My lips part in invitation and our tongues explore each other. My toes curl as he relinquishes my wrist so he can cup my face with both of his hands. He wants me arching up—at his mercy—and he’s not shy about tilting my chin up right where he wants it, proving how bossy I suspected him to be. I feel his kiss in every part of my body. There’s a heady thrum deep between my legs.
His hands slip from my face and he pulls back as if to catch his breath, but I chase him, kissing him again, moaning into his mouth. He meets my passion, then surpasses it. It’s as if he’s almost angry at his reaction to me as he nips and bites his way down my neck. His teeth scrape against my skin and he leaves marks. More evidence for the others, that’s all.
His lips sweep over my collarbone and I shake with need, incensed by it as he gathers me closer to him, bending so he can grip my waist so tight my feet start to lift off the floor. I know he’s still slightly holding himself back. I see it in his corded muscles, the way he breaks our kiss and inhales an unsteady breath, looking me over like he’s fighting to regain his sense.
He doesn’t retreat though. His hands gather the soft material of my dress as he roams over my waist and ribs, skimming the underside of my breasts. He stalls there, watching me as his hands shift over my body. Maybe he’s seeking permission or maybe he’s feeding off my eagerness. I don’t miss the wicked appreciation in his eyes as his hand boldly covers my breast, palming it through the thin material of my dress, feeling its weight, teasing me. I ache for more as I gasp and squeeze my eyes closed. He’d only have to peel the thin dress down to my waist and then his hands would be hot on my skin.
This is uncharted territory. My sex life has been…good, fine, even great at times, but not this. Never this.
With that harrowing realization, my eyes snap open and I push him, not hard, but enough that he steps back and we break apart. Cool air rushes in to replace his warmth.
We’re both panting. I don’t even need to look down to see proof of how much he wants me; it’s written all over his face. Those tense eyebrows, that tight jaw, those red, red lips. I have no doubt my own desire is reflected right back at him.
I feel vulnerable and brittle under his intense scrutiny, a flower made of glass he holds in the palm of his hand. So easy to shatter.
Quickly, I offer a short laugh—it’s tight, off—but it succeeds in deflecting the seriousness of the moment.
“That should do it, don’t you think?”
He frowns like he’s stricken by the comment. Have I gone too far?
What other option is left for me? To proceed? Absolutely not.
Those warning bells from earlier haven’t gone silent. On the contrary, they’re blaring louder than ever.
Leave.
Go.
Now.
I grip the door handle, turning it even as I look back at him and offer a small, sad smile. Maybe there’s an apology there if only he looks hard enough.