Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“Sorry, still trying to find you a shirt.”
“It’s probably a good idea if you find one for yourself first.”
Heat clawed at her skin. “Okay. I just . . .” All the shirts looked the same. Nothing made sense. She couldn’t recall what a single one of them looked like or ever having seen them in her life. There was nothing but the magnetism and frustration radiating from the man in her doorway. “Um. Hold on.”
Sig pushed off the door and went to pace the hallway, arms crossed. And she hated herself for being swamped in disappointment by that. By the fact that he didn’t charge into the bedroom, swipe her off the floor, and throw her down on the bed. Take her like an animal. Her body craved that rough treatment. Craved release. For both of them. God, she wanted his almost as much as she needed her own.
Finally, she found a black tank top for herself, pulling it on over her head.
Down toward the bottom of the folded stack was a Bearcats shirt she’d bought at the first game she attended. Before she’d ordered her custom pink jersey. The only size they’d had left in her favorite design was a men’s XXL, so she’d resolved to sleep in it.
“Here,” she murmured, holding out the shirt to him on her journey into the dark hallway. Yes, dark. The overcast day lent little light to the apartment and they hadn’t bothered turning on any lights, apart from the one in the bathroom.
There was more than enough light, however, to see every muscle of Sig’s body flex, ripple, and snap when he stripped off his ruined shirt and dropped it on the ground, his heavy-lidded eyes fastened on her. When he looked ready to spring for her, he merely held out his hand for the shirt.
She handed it over, shivering when their fingers brushed.
He hesitated to put on the garment, his chest rising and falling in an unsteady pattern.
“I’m trying to respect your decision, Chlo,” he said thickly, his steps seeming to bring them closer involuntarily. Closer. Closer until his breath on her temple. “Quit looking at me like that.”
Another step forward from Sig. A backward one from Chloe.
One by one, her back muscles melted into the wall, head falling back so her eyes could trace the perfection of his jawline, his throat, his sculpted mouth. “Like what?”
That breath—and the tiniest hint of his tongue—made contact with her ear. “Like you remember how hot we fuck. Like you want to do it again.” He planted his left hand above her head on the wall, his right hand dropped to the front of his sweatpants. Gripped that thick ridge while he groaned. “Look what you do to me, Chloe.”
“That’s what you do to me, too,” she whispered, head swimming. “The lady version.”
His lips twitched, but he seemed almost pained by his own amusement. “Oh God, I miss you so much.”
“I miss you, too. So much,” she gasped, because he buried a handful of fingers in her hair, tilted her head back, and licked upward along the curve of her throat.
“You want some?” He latched his teeth to her jaw. “Give me a green light.”
Don’t do it. She’d only set herself back. But there was no putting the brakes on a runaway train. No talking sense into herself when she loved this man in ways that defied logic.
“One more time,” she whispered, nodding, her arms sliding up around his neck.
“No one will know but us,” he gritted out, backing her more firmly against the wall and smothering her face in kisses. He planted his lips frantically, but lovingly, on her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her chin, her hair, her ears, before finding her mouth and growling into a kiss that communicated everything inside of them both. Everything they both knew to be true, so true they’d feel it for the rest of their lives. “Goddamn it. Goddamn it.”
“Don’t think,” she whispered, dropping her right hand from around his neck and stroking his erection through the soft material of his sweatpants. “Just enjoy me.”
He moaned brokenly, dropping his face into the crook of her neck. “I do. I enjoy you more than anything else in this life.”
“Sig, you’re going to break me saying things like that.”
She felt his teeth baring against the spot below her ear. “I hear you, Chlo. I’ll keep it about fucking. That’s how we’re going to survive this, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” He tilted his hips, rolling them into her touch. “Touch me.”
“I’d rather taste you, honey.”
A shudder passed through his big frame. “You don’t have to suck my cock, Chloe. But if you do, I’ll reward you so well for it.”
Her legs simply evaporated beneath her, knees landing on the floor, her eager hands tugging down his waistband. She’d wanted to give him a blow job in the hotel room last week, but every time she’d attempted one, he’d shaken his head, flipped her over, and gone down on her instead. A week without him had left her starving and if this was going to be the last time, the real last time they were together, then she planned to feast. Her grip circled him, tongue giving a long lap of that shiny dome, playing in the salty slit. And then she put as much of him in her mouth as she could stand, feeling herself choke, her eyes watering from the pressure but not caring. Only wanting more of his flavor, the satisfaction of his groans.