Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to be afraid of it.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Maybe it’s time that I gave you the sex talk,” she says, her tone impish. “So that way you’ll know what you’re doing. Repeat after me: condoms are mandatory.”
A bark of laughter escapes me. “I never stood a chance against you, did I?”
Her humor fades. “You’ve done a pretty good job resisting this.”
Part of me still wants to deny it. Stubborn to a fault, that’s me. But I can’t pretend not to want her anymore. Lust thrums through my body in visible shudders. Being this close to her, touching her, but not having her—it’s enough to rip me to shreds. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“How much longer?” she whispers.
My internal clock is accurate down to the second. “A minute.”
“What would you do to me? If I were over eighteen?”
Heat races through my veins. “I shouldn’t have kissed you, but I would do it again. And again. And again until you moaned into my mouth. And then I’d move lower, down your body. To your shoulders and your stomach. Your breasts. It’s all I can think about.”
Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “Keep going.”
How did I ever think I was the one with control in this relationship? Because I made rules and she followed them, but that was always her choice. I only ever had as much control as she gave me. And I’m helpless in the face of her desire. “I want to kiss you between your legs, to taste you, to drink you in and make you push your hips against my face. And all the while you’ll play the violin, so perfect, so perfect, because you don’t know how to make a mistake, not even if you tried.”
Her eyes are wide and dark and luminous. “Liam.”
“But then I would find your clit. It would already be hard and throbbing. Slick. I’d flick it with my tongue, again and again, ruthless, not caring that you’d beg me to go slower or softer. Your hands would falter, and there would be a terrible sound from the violin, because you would come hard enough to forget.”
“How much longer?” she says on a tortured breath.
At some point my words stopped being hypothetical. They became a promise, and every muscle in me strains for completion. My whole body aches to hear the beautiful sounds as she rises and the terrible screech as she comes for me.
“Almost doesn’t count,” I mutter, grim and aching.
“Now.”
I shake my head, my eyes not leaving hers. She’s heavy-lidded, her lips gently parted. “Ten,” I tell her. “Nine. Eight.”
She moves her violin back into place, her arms up as the bow goes into position. How many times have I seen her like this? And yet she’s completely different. It can’t be the seconds ticking away. Nothing as external as time. Something’s changed inside her.
“Seven. Six. Five.”
The first note enters the air around us, and I feel it deep inside my body. In my muscle and bone. In my cock, which pushes against the rough denim of my jeans.
There is more than welcome in her eyes. There’s challenge.
SAMANTHA
I don’t expect him to actually touch me. “Four,” he says, and I begin the opening rise of Beethoven’s “5 Secrets.” They’re moving and sweet, with a touch of melancholy.
His eyes flicker with a deep shame. He doesn’t want to want me, which is what makes it so sad. The music is how I speak to him. It’s how he speaks back to me, his head bowed before me. Does it really matter so much whether I’m seventeen or eighteen? Does it really matter that a piece of paper makes him my guardian? He does not have a monopoly on being protective. It’s not only him who decides what happens here.
I want to guard him from the onyx shadows in his green eyes.
“Three,” he murmurs, and I expect him to walk away.
The bow moves almost on its own, my limbs forming around the instrument the way it wants. It’s a sensual experience, playing the violin. I didn’t realize how much until now.
He touches my lips with his thumb, the movement bold. His hand trails lower, over the shape of my breasts and the concave of my stomach.
“Two,” he says, pushing my legs. The backs of his knuckles brush the insides of my thighs, and everything in me tightens. Muscle memory is a powerful thing, and I manage to keep playing without missing a single note. Two fingers slip beneath the slit of the dress. Those green eyes widen, and I know he’s shocked that I’m not wearing anything underneath.
My regular panties left an obvious line in the thin fabric of the dress. I’ll need something else to wear underneath—a thong. Though at the moment having nothing feels more right than anything I could buy at a store.