Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
My jaw ticks. She’s wrong. She’s mistaken guilt for love. She’s got it all fucked up in her head because she’s kind, warm, and considerate, a good girl who won’t admit she hates the guy who saved her simply because that’s not what good women do. They stick by their husbands and suck it up.
However, she’s also right. I don’t want to feel guilty about wanting her for selfish reasons, and she makes it damn hard for me when she behaves so selflessly. There was a time I wanted everything—her body, heart, and mind—but that was before I became half the man I used to be. Now, I can’t expect her heart and soul on top of her body. I don’t want to harbor false hope only to be crushed the day when she realizes she was wrong, that what she feels now is a sad illusion of what she’s not yet brave enough to admit.
Yet there’s more. That’s only the tip of the iceberg. There are a thousand reasons why I can’t—shouldn’t—love her. One day, she’ll realize I’m doing this to protect her.
She pushes me again, harder this time. “What the hell do you want from me?”
I grab her wrists, pinning her against the vanity despite the pain that shoots up my knee. “This.”
I’m on her like a predator, kissing her lips and moving my weight to my good leg. The kiss is violent, our teeth clashing and our tongues sparring for dominance. I hold on to her wrists until she yanks free and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a deeper, softer kiss. I slip one hand around her slender waist and to her ass while gliding the other between her legs.
Fuck.
No panties.
So wet.
For me.
I work down the zipper of my jeans and free my cock. I’m still kissing her when I lift her thigh to open her wider. She hooks her leg around my hip, holding on as I position my cock and tear into her, too impatient to go slowly. She gasps, her nails cutting into my scalp as she keeps me close. Rolling my hips, I find the right spot before I give her more—harder and deeper.
She moans, then swallows the sound and bites her lip.
My knee threatens to fold, but I keep on going, pounding into her, because I can’t give this up. I can’t love her, but I can’t let her go. God knows I tried. I came as close as the passports taunting me in my desk, and she would’ve been wise to grab the chance at happiness. Now? She’s stuck with me. At least for a while. And I know I’m going to break her heart.
So I move faster still, giving as much as I can, drowning her in pleasure.
A sniff followed by a fussing noise comes over the baby monitor. I know that sound. In the next few seconds, it’s going to turn into serious bawling.
I can’t carry my weight on my leg for a second longer. Sweat beads on my skin. The pain is crippling, but the need to get her off before the crying lifts the roof is more pressing.
“Come for me,” I say, sitting down on the bench behind me and pulling Anya with me.
She straddles me and takes what she needs, guiding my hand between her legs where we’re joined. I rub her clit the way she likes me to when she rides my cock. Lowering my head, I taste a nipple. I love how the tip hardens on my tongue.
“I’m close,” she says, her breathing shallow.
It’s my cue to let go. When her inner walls clamp down on my shaft, I let her climax trigger mine. We go over together, my infertile seed filling her body with no other purpose than to mark her as mine. Even though it’s temporary.
Claire starts crying in earnest.
Anya scrambles off my lap, my release leaking down the insides of her thighs. She grabs a wad of tissues and cleans herself before wiping her hands on a disinfectant wipe. Her actions are jerky and anxious.
“Livy—” I start.
“Is passed out drunk.” She hurriedly pulls on a pair of panties. “Claire is my responsibility.”
I lift my ass to adjust my jeans, the endorphins of coming not making me feel as if I’m in seventh heaven. Instead, I feel like a jerk for not going to Claire, but Anya is already rushing from the dressing room.
A moment later, her voice comes through the monitor. “There, sweetheart. Mommy’s here.”
The crying turns to pitiful hiccups.
“Are you hungry? Poor darling.”
Anya is good with Claire, as I knew she’d be.
For a crazy moment, I’m jealous of their moment, jealous enough to pick up my crutches and to wince my way to the nursery. I stop in the door frame, not daring to step over the threshold.