Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Well, I guess that’s good.” She cringed. “Not that you wouldn’t make a great dad. I think you would. Just not…” She bit her lower lip.
“When I was wasted every night and all day in the summer?” I forced a smile to my lips.
“Exactly.” She tilted her head and watched me carefully. “Do you even want kids?”
“I’m not sure a kid would ever want me,” I responded, my hands flexing on her hips.
“Every kid would want you,” she whispered, trailing her fingers down the beard I’d quit shaving after the last show. “And I bet you’d make some beautiful babies when the time is right.”
My heart cranked over, but I was too focused on the letter to reply.
“Anyway.” She withdrew her hand and ripped open the envelope.
“Practice.” I yanked the letters out of her hand and threw all but one onto the floor, then filled my hands with her incredible ass and lifted her to straddle me.
“I’m sorry?” she mumbled through the fabric of my hoodie as I stripped it off her.
“You say babies, and it makes me want to practice making them.” The hoodie hit the floor as I slipped the letter between the couch cushions.
She grinned. “You always want to practice.”
“Makes perfect.” I held the nape of her neck and brought her mouth to mine in a kiss that took us from playful to burning in less than a second. The bone-jarring panic that had accompanied that letter fell away, replaced by a primal demand that bordered on desperation.
I needed her now.
It took minutes for our clothes to come off and a condom on, and then I was inside her, where the world made sense. Fuck me, she was hot, and tight, and always so incredibly wet, so perfect. This was where I wanted to live—right here with her, where nothing else mattered. Where nothing else could touch us.
I kissed her hard as she rode me, arching my hips to meet her. She slowed the pace when I would have pushed it. Gentled her strokes when I would have driven her faster and harder. Ran her fingers through my hair and pulled back enough to look in my eyes, smiling.
The woman was going to drive me to the brink of madness, but I was here for it.
I sat back and let her take the reins, pulling her with me so I could use my hands, teeth, and tongue to work her into a frenzy. Watching her come was even more gratifying than my own orgasm, and I made sure she got there twice before I plummeted over that edge, groaning her name.
Our breathing slowly returned to normal as I cradled her against my chest. She traced the scar along the top edge of the wings that stretched across my chest.
“Jealous lover?” she asked softly.
“Bar fight.”
She lifted her eyebrows at me.
“Other guy started it.” I shrugged, then kissed her. “What about you?” I trailed my finger down the silvery line at her side. “Old jousting wound?”
“Bear fight.” She grinned.
“You’re a dork.” But I laughed.
“Appendectomy when I was ten.” She sat up, depriving me of her skin but giving me a fantastic view of her breasts. “Which tattoo was your first?”
I hesitated, and nearly gave her the lie I’d quoted to every magazine for the last decade. Instead of pointing to the side piece of Icarus mid-fall, like I usually did, I drew her fingers to the small clock that rested under a wing above my heart.
“Really?” Her gaze flew to mine. “I thought it was…”
“If you thought it was Icarus, then why did you ask?” I held her hand against my chest, giving her the only piece of truth I was capable of, which was more than I’d offered anyone else.
“I don’t like getting my information secondhand.” Her index finger circled the clock, pausing on the Roman numerals at the second and hour hands. “Seven twelve.”
“Yep.” My heart clenched. “You going to ask me why?”
Those green eyes pinned me in place. “Do you want to tell me?” The little lift at the end of her question shredded my soul. She was always so hopeful.
I shook my head, crushing that hope.
“Then I’m not going to ask,” she whispered, cupping my face. Her kiss was soft but a little sad. “The irony of you being inside my body when you won’t let me in here”—she tapped my temples lightly—“is a bit too much for me right now.”
With that, she slid off me, picking up her discarded clothing and the mess I’d made of the mail, then leaving me to my own shitty thoughts and a letter I needed to burn.
* * *
We stayed in Colorado as November rolled into December. I liked it here, where we were far from the cameras and the tabloids. The only parties included ugly Christmas sweaters, from which I abstained, choosing to wear a sweatshirt I’d had made of Jeremiah’s face.