Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I fall into the pace of his kiss, and gladly let him distract me from life as I know it too.
Just for tonight.
Chapter 4
The texture of the sheets beneath me is unfamiliar. So is the smell of the cotton. I feel my muscles pull as I go to roll over, and I moan, aching everywhere, as I blink my eyes open sleepily. I frown, then quickly wince as I move again, trying to sit up. Where the hell am I?
A deep, sleepy inhale penetrates my confusion, and I glance down, seeing the full, naked length of a man’s body. I study the expanse of his lean muscles, working my way up to his stunning face.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper. Such a gorgeous face, rough with scruff, his lashes long. His lips are slightly parted, and one perfect, thick arm extends above his head, draped across the white pillow.
Jack.
Flashbacks.
So many flashbacks. Against the window, on the desk, sitting on the edge of the bed, me straddling him, Jack above me. Him gazing down at me. His light chuckles as I stroked his back. His words. His kisses. And then the explosive sex all over again – in the shower, against the bathroom door, back in this bed. I reach up and feel my damp hair, then clench my thighs, wincing at the soreness.
No condom.
What the hell have I done? He’s a stranger. A complete stranger. The fact that he seemed like anything but a stranger the whole time we were exploring each other is forgotten now. The connection is lost amid a sea of regret.
A quick glance at the bedside clock tells me it’s 4.15. The sun is on its way up.
I shuffle as quietly as a mouse to the edge of the bed and search the floor in the dim light for my dress, finding it by the window. I tiptoe across the carpet, tense from top to toe, which isn’t helping my achy muscles. Jesus, I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking bus. I make quick work of wriggling into my dress, slipping my feet into my heels and swiping up my underwear and bag.
Then, like I might be struck down by lightning if I make even the tiniest of sounds, I slip out of the room – the room Jack paid for so we could fuck – cringing as I ease the door closed. I run down the corridor to the lift like a madwoman and hit the call button, and when the doors to the lift open, I’m hit with more flashbacks. I’m pressed against the back wall, he’s kissing me with a crazy passion, and my face is pure ecstasy.
I slam a lid on those thoughts and dive in the lift.
I fucked a fucking stranger.
I let myself into my flat and put myself straight in the shower. The hot water cleaning away the evidence of my careless encounter is only a mild comfort. I can’t wash my mind of the reminders. Doubt I ever will. My muscles protest my every move as I soap my body over and over, letting the water pound down harshly, hotter than I’d usually tolerate it.
Against the window. His huge, hard body touching me everywhere.
I shake my head and soap harder, concentrating on my obsessive need to scrub myself until I bleed. I feel dirty. Ashamed of myself for being so careless. But worse, I feel overcome by the connection we shared, the feelings still lingering, like he could be standing here in the shower with me now.
On the desk. The look in his grey eyes.
I bunch the sponge in my fist and grit my teeth, throwing it to the shower floor before grabbing the shampoo and squirting some in my hand. My fingers go into my hair and lather, hard, fast and furious.
Hard, fast and furious. The feel of him taking me so powerfully.
I shout and let my back fall against the wall, my hurt muscles folding and taking me down to the shower floor. I just sit there and relive every single crazy, intense second I had with Jack as I stare up at the showerhead pouring water down on me. I can only hope that once I’ve lived the whole scene from beginning to end, my mind will relent and be fulfilled enough to let me forget about him. Forget about the man who momentarily steered me off course from real life.
I recognise these sheets. The feel, the smell. I roll over, hissing as I go. The aches just seem to be getting worse. My phone tells me it’s 9.30. After torturing myself in my shower with hot water and memories, I clambered into bed and drifted off to sleep, though my dreams gave me no respite. I saw his grey eyes, heard his velvet voice, felt his soft lips and that body made for sinful things. Just a one-night stand. It was just a one-night stand.