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)
He flushes faintly, and it makes my heart sing. I brush my finger over the back of his hand again, and he doesn’t flinch. “I’m sorry.” That deep voice reaches right to my heart and wraps its fingers around it. “I’m sorry about the journals and falling asleep in your bed after I dumped a crapshit of stuff on you. I’m also sorry about the window and your blinds and what just happened now.”
It’s the kind of apology that says save me. Don’t let me go. Grab my legs when I’m falling out of a window and tug me back. Look for me for hours in the rain. “I’m not.” My voice doesn’t waver. Not one bit. “Try it again.” I can’t believe I’m brave enough to do this, but I know if I’m not, it won’t happen again. “If you’re still sorry, you should do it one more time. Everyone is all about the third time’s the charm and all.”
And he does. My god, he does. He reaches for me and draws me close, punishing my mouth. The kiss turns sweet after a few seconds, though, and he explores gently, taking his time. It’s a thing of wonder. Like he can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe it’s happening either.
When Van stands roughly and tugs me into his arms and kisses me breathless all over, dragging his hands through my hair to tilt my face back to deepen everything, my head swims, my body cries out, my clit throbs, and I know I don’t want this to end.
The kiss does, but only because I tear away, panting and wild-eyed, and race over to shut the door and twist the lock. I put my finger to my lips, saying nothing at all. Just shhh, and then I twine my hands around Van’s neck, stand on my tiptoes, and let him take my breath away with another raw, seductive kiss that makes me tingle straight down to every single one of my toes. I’ve never been aware that they’re all there before, all ten of them. It’s quite fascinating.
I’m the one who guides him to the bed, and I’m the one who presses down on his shoulders to make him sit on the edge. Then, I guide him further back and help him stretch out. The bed doesn’t make a sound, thank goodness. It’s an old one, so I didn’t exactly trust it.
I watch as Van shifts on the bed and stretches his back out, his body so big that he nearly takes up the whole thing, his feet half hanging over the edge because he’s tall. He’s always taken up all the air like this whenever he’s near. All the room. All the space in my chest. His eyes are golden, swimming, and his lips part in surprise as he watches me. I never thought we’d be here. I’m not sure what to do now and how to proceed. I want him so freaking badly, but does he want this too? I guess I could just ask…
“Are you okay?” I whisper. “Are you sure?”
He rifles a hand through his hair and leaves it there, thrown over the pillows. “If you’re okay.”
“What about after?”
His eyes darken. “I don’t know. I’m worried about that. Are you?”
“A little. Should we not do this?”
“What exactly are we doing?”
“I don’t know. Can I touch you?” When I say that, he groans a little too loudly. I put my finger to my lips again and smile because I can’t stop myself. “Shh. Only if you’re quiet.”
His lips press together to stifle any further sound. He nods. “Yes, Remi. I want you to touch me.”
“Okay. We’ll figure out the after, well…after.”
I’m standing at the foot of the bed, and his eyes sweep over me, setting little fires off one by one under my skin. He never tears his eyes away as I watch him the same way. Neither of us moves, and the room is totally silent. His eyes are so glorious and beautiful. I’m shaking, and all of a sudden, I feel silly now. It’s light in here. I’m not a goddess by any means, but I’m also nervous about stripping his clothes away and dying because it’s all so good or even embarrassing myself by doing something he doesn’t like. I feel like I’m going to faint. But I just need to start. Where should I begin? Oh god. Oh god. Oh god…
Socks.
I start with his socks. They’re the first thing I see, closest to me, so I take one, peeling it off his foot. I run my hand up his heel, past his arch, to his toes. He clamps his hand over his mouth to keep in a giggle, and his foot flexes, toes curling in.
“Oh my god, are you ticklish?”
“Most people don’t go for the feet first,” he says, voice thick with amusement. “I didn’t think you’d find out so easily.”