Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Do you still feel that way?” he gasps, his shoulders and chest heaving. He’s pressed himself up against the wall like it can save him. Like he can melt through it and escape that way. Unfortunately for him, it looks like they’re going to hold.
I guess this is the moment of truth. I don’t want to lie. I can’t lie. Not after last night. This isn’t a brush it off as a joke kind of a thing. Not with the way he’s looking at me now. I think about all those doodles and hearts and his name next to mine, engraved on paper and the walls of my heart forever. All those teenage dreams. “In varying shades and degrees of it, with a lot less intensity and a lot more maturity…yes.”
“Oh, god. Oh, sweet gravy. Kimmy is going to kill me.”
I laugh, and he gapes at me. “You think Kimmy doesn’t know? Didn’t know? I told her right away. She’s my best friend. We’ve never kept secrets.”
“So she sent you to seduce me into giving her information? Is that it?” He looks betrayed now, horrified and appalled.
“No.” I set my hand over my thrumming heart, willing it to calm down before I have an actual heart attack. “No, that was not it. Okay, so she did want me to get information out of you, but mostly just to figure out if you were going to take the company from her or not. She told me to do what it takes. Did she mean it? Of course not. It was just Kimmy being Kimmy. Did she want information? Yes. Is she scared to death about being replaced and losing everything she’s worked for? Yes. Did she want me to hurt you? No. She might have said she did and pretended like she didn’t care, but she does.
“I’ve never lied to you. I’m a shit spy, and I admitted that from the start. I love Kimmy, and I…cared about you. I still care about you. You’re feeling sad, and you’re hurt, and I don’t like that. Last night? That wasn’t me trying to get something out of you. That was me listening because you needed someone. But, Van, as for the seduction stuff and whatever else, I never planned on it. I would never have tried, and if I had, it wouldn’t have been seducing. It would have just been real and honest, and you would have known the difference.” I blink, my heart finally settling into a pace that isn’t going to slay me. “You were the one who kissed me.”
“And you slept in the same bed with me!”
“You feel asleep. We were fully clothed. Nothing happened. You were exhausted. I…I didn’t actually sleep.”
At this, his eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Oh god. Oh my god, that’s even worse. You just watched me sleep all night?”
“The lights were off, so not exactly.”
“I’m floundering here, Remi. You’ve got to help me out.”
I don’t know what he’s asking for, but I drop to my knees and throw my hands around his neck, just intending to hold him close to stop the meltdown that’s probably coming. I’m not sure why he’s freaking out so badly. I don’t get the change. But the would-be hug turns into Van tilting my face to meet his, and our mouths crash together. He kisses me like he’s been waiting his whole life for this very moment, or maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part because that’s how I kiss him.
My heart breaks itself over and over again against the wall of my ribs. My breasts are heaving against the dress, and I press closer to Van, craving his heat, needing to be closer, wanting it all—more of him, more of his skin. I want to touch him all over, but I keep my hands on his shirt even though I want to tear it apart and reveal the golden skin and hard abs below. I want to put my mouth there, all over him. I want to worship him until he begs me and makes hoarse, animal sounds. I want to make him feel good. Yes, I’ve thought about this a lot. But this is more than anything I’ve ever mused about before or, okay, I’ll admit, fantasized about.
I want to make him feel more than just human again. I want him to know how special he is. How, if our lives had been different, maybe he could have been my everything. Or someone else’s everything. I’ve always just wanted him to be happy more than I ever wanted him for myself, and the thought of him being used and discarded, working hard yet never feeling like it was enough, and feeling worthless and alone and abandoned makes me sick and angry and heartbroken.
The moment goes on, and it lasts and lasts. His lips are heaven. I taste like mint, and he tastes like mint because I can taste myself on him, but he’s sweet too. He tastes like himself, and I can’t get enough. He’s a really good kisser. I always knew he would be. I make little noises against his lips, which he matches with feral-sounding groans that are barely audible. Lifting my hand, I trace a small circle at the back of his neck before I bury my hand in his messy hair and scrape my teeth over his bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth. He gives me that grunt I’ve been craving, and his tongue pushes between my lips, finds mine, and strokes it in a way that has me clenching my thighs together because I know I’ve freaking ruined my panties, and soon, the evidence is going to be leaking down my thighs. I’m wearing a dress, damn it, and it’s too much. But still, we don’t stop. It’s like the world around us has disappeared, leaving just us behind, and there isn’t such a thing as time or expectations.