Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
And how is he still holding me up without straining at all?
“I’d never do anything to cause more problems with you and your brother, even if I did like him—which I don’t. I feel terrible about this. But mostly it’s because Billy isn’t the guy I want, and you’re well aware of that.”
My breath catches in my throat when he spins me, and my back thuds against the wall. His hands drop my waist once my weight is distributed between him and the wall, and he grabs my knees, pulling them up and forcing my legs to go around his waist as he leans down and nips my neck.
My entire body shivers, and I cling to his shoulders.
“Tell me to stop, Allie,” he whispers against my skin.
Stop? Why the hell would I want him to stop?
“No,” I whisper back, and something snaps inside of Wren.
His gaze heats. A pin is jerked from a grenade, a trigger is pulled on a loaded gun, and fire is set to a gasoline trail… Wren Prize loses his control.
He roughly pulls and spins me away from the wall, and when his lips find mine, there’s nothing gentle about his touch. He’s savage, hungry, and won’t be denied. It’s bruising and animalistic. It’s wild and carnal. It’s desperate and so damn good.
Heat spreads all over me in a way it never has before, and shock hits when I realize all those weird moaning sounds are coming from me. Wren swallows every sound, muting them mostly, greedily drinking me in like he doesn’t want anything escaping us.
It doesn’t even register that he’s been carrying me around the house until a bed is suddenly against my back, and he’s coming down on top of me. He settles between my legs, ravaging my mouth like he can’t get enough. No way in hell am I risking him backing out now. To hell with the pro/con list.
We’re both adult enough to handle this if it goes bad. Angel won’t get hurt. We’ll figure it out.
He grinds against me, and my mind tunes out the inner turmoil stirring inside. All that matters are his hips rocking, and all that separates us are a few thin layers of clothing that I want gone.
“Are you drunk?” I whisper, suddenly realizing this is so out of character for him.
He laughs humorlessly while drawing back enough to look into my eyes. “I wish I was. Then I’d have a reason for acting like a lunatic. What the hell are you doing to me?”
He doesn’t give me time to answer before he’s kissing me again, grinding his hips into me almost painfully. But all I can focus on is the feel of his erection that is straining against his pants. Oh. Dear. God. I just whimpered.
With one hand, he pulls his shirt over his head, and then he tosses it aside as though he finds it offensive. My hands slide up his chest, feeling the bare, hard, unnaturally perfect flesh beneath my fingertips.
Ah, hell. I just whimpered again.
“Last chance to back out, Allie,” he whispers across my lips, but it’s hard to let the words find meaning, because his hand is sliding up my shirt, pushing it up higher and higher.
When I don’t respond, he groans and leans over. His soft, inky black hair tickles my side seconds before his soft lips brush against the sensitive flesh under my breasts. Reflexively, my body jerks, and I feel like an idiot. It’s been a while since someone has been in a bed with me. In fact, no one has been in my bed… ever.
My thoughts are abruptly yanked away by Wren’s teasing tongue as he slides his mouth lower. It’s not until then that I see he has my jeans undone and sliding them down.
My body arches against him as my eyes try to roll back in my head. His lips are dangerously close to my panties, and the heat of his breath warms the fabric, teasing me through the thin layer.
My jeans slide lower on my legs, and he moves so that he can tear them away completely. His lips trace back up, and a small breath of surprise escapes me when my panties slowly start sliding down.
The frantic pace of our earlier kiss doesn’t match the methodical pace of his hands now. It’s torture. I hate slow forep—
“Oh damn,” I say embarrassingly loud when his tongue attacks without warning.
I look down the length of my body to see Wren between my wide-spread legs, his hands on my hips, as his lips and tongue work together to do divine things. The visual stimulant along with the physical touch is too much, and my stomach clenches when my release threatens to emerge so damn soon.
My head falls back as my eyes close, and I try to shut my legs when the feeling becomes overwhelming, almost painfully good. His pace is relentless, as though he’s pushing me over the finish line without remorse when he sucks that bundle of nerves, flicking his tongue against it as well, taking no prisoners.