Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
She nods woodenly but lets me guide her over, where we discover Elena was right. There’s every size of T-shirt, sweatshirt, and sweatpants in the drawers. Not to mention socks, underwear, swimsuits, and flip-flops, all neatly folded and placed. Luna grabs an oversized sweatshirt and socks, holding them to her chest as though they’re a shield. “I’m changing in the bathroom.”
When she closes the door behind her, I fight to keep my chuckle quiet. She acted like I asked her to strip right here in front of me or might follow her in to sneak a peek.
Instead, I grab a pair of sweatpants of my own and make quick work of changing before she comes out. I’m still hanging up my clothes when the bathroom door opens.
“Want me to hang up your dress?” I offer. But when I turn around, Luna doesn’t have her dress in her hands or anywhere else. It’s just her . . . in a sweatshirt that hangs long, cupping the fullness of her hips and then the middle of her thighs. Her socks are pulled up, hitting just below her knees.
There’s only a small strip of her legs showing, but I can’t tear my eyes away from it. It’s like a magnet, pulling me in while at the same time powering . . . thoughts. Ones I shouldn’t have, not about Luna.
“I hung it up in there.” She points over her shoulder with her thumb and then starts gnawing on the digit nervously. “Uhm, where are you sleeping? You’re not sleeping with me.”
“There’s a couch right there.” My voice is too low, too rough when I think about us in bed together doing everything but sleeping, but she doesn’t notice, thankfully.
“Okay.” She agrees easily but then moves toward the couch herself, pulling a quilt from the foot of the bed.
I can’t help but grin. There’s something quaint and cute about the way she looks padding across the room in a long shirt with a blanket in tow. “I meant that I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Oh.” She freezes like a deer in the headlights before redirecting to the bed. She climbs up, throws the decorative pillows to the floor to make room for herself, and then pulls the bedding back. The whole time, she’s on her knees, her ass sticking out, and my palms itch to grab her, dent the supple flesh there, or maybe see what it takes to make it flush like her cheeks did.
The dirty turn of my thoughts shocks me. I mean, this is Luna. She’s not my type, and she’s Zack’s sister. Hell, if she breathes one word of what’s happening tonight to Zack, he’ll skin me alive and I won’t even try to stop him. But she’s also voluptuous in a way that makes me want to suffocate in her breasts and drown between her thighs.
Wait, what?
“You don’t think she’d expect us to have sex, do you? Like as a young, newly married couple?” The words pop out as a result of the path my mind has disappeared down. As if Elena is outside our door listening or something.
From her spot on the bed, Luna says dryly, “I’m not having sex with you.”
“We could fake it,” I suggest, grinning foolishly, continuing down this nonsense path. This is a bad idea, a really bad idea. But also, maybe a brilliant one. If we needed to sell the husband-and-wife image, this surely will.
Luna pushes her glasses up her nose as she looks at me carefully. “What do you mean?”
I don’t explain. I climb on the bed with her, making sure to stay on top of the covers, but when she gasps in surprise, I wink and rise to my hands and knees beside her, on my own side of the bed. I shake the bed back and forth a few times, testing to see if it squeaks.
No luck. This is no IKEA bed. This is one of those heavy-duty, luxury deals meant to last until doomsday, and then some.
I shake it harder, finally getting a little movement, enough for the headboard to touch the wall. It’s not a bang, exactly, but when I do it again, the rhythm is unmistakable.
“Carter!” Luna hisses, her eyes widening in horror.
I stifle a laugh at how scandalized she seems. Instead, I grunt a little before groaning out, “Ohhh, Luna.”
“Don’t say my name like that!” she whispers hotly.
“Like what?” I keep my pace. Bang, bang, bang.
“All grunty, groany caveman like that. It’s gross.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste, but I can hear something in her tone. The lady doth protest too much. It makes me grin harder and bang a little louder.
Keeping my voice down, I ask, “Are you a prude in bed?” Offended, she pulls the blanket up to her chin and I smirk triumphantly. “Figured.”