Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Why?”
My mouth moves to make the obvious confession, yet I keep the words at bay.
“Because you like me, correct?”
Less now.
“That’s why you’re pissed I haven’t been around.” His frame inches more into my space prompting me to slightly retreat. “That’s why you were pissed when you thought I went out with someone else.”
“You did!”
“I didn’t,” he quietly professes. “I couldn’t.” My back hits the nearby wall. “I wouldn’t.” The instant I’m there both of his palms brace themselves on it to trap me in. “You are the only person I wanna be with Arden Hoss. Why won’t you just bloody accept that?”
“Because you banged my sister!”
“Because I thought she was you!”
It’s my turn to be startled speechless.
“The only reason I was anywhere fucking near her was because I thought she was you!” His face leans forward to ensure my gaze remains attached to his. “You’re practically identical and when you’re as fucked up as I was at that party, it’s fucking impossible to see the differences I have no problem spotting when I’m not so bloody hammered that I’m betting my car during a beer pong tourney!”
“You bet Lucilla?” escapes just above a whisper.
“Yes, and thankfully, Becks has terrible aim when he’s on a multiday bender.”
The urge to ask about his lingering substance issues – even now that he’s not playing – isn’t given time to grow into more.
“I never wanted to nor intended to sleep with Audrey, and if you don’t bloody believe me – because you never do – ask her. Ask her whose body I was endlessly praising.”
Weakness wobbles my knees.
“Ask her whose name I was fucking calling out from start to finish.”
An inability to breathe suddenly takes over.
“Ask her whose name I was saying when I was bloody begging for more.”
Not smashing my lips against his is impossible.
And so is not whimpering when his mouth aggressively spreads mine apart.
Slips his tongue inside.
Strokes it obsessively and frantically like a beast blinded by hunger.
Fervor.
Fear.
Fear that this isn’t real.
Fear that this isn’t happening.
Fear that it’s all going to end the second he pulls back, which leads to him doing the opposite.
Tanner roughly whips his tongue around mine at the same time he yanks me away from the wall by the edge of my shirt to grant him access to my ass.
Cupping one cheek instantly transitions into palming both, an action that barely precedes him lifting me up.
Kissing me harder.
Groaning and gripping and groaning again as his tongue fights for dominance while I struggle harder and harder to simply survive the overwhelming, endless lashes.
Our frames go from standing to stretched out on the mattress in what feels like the blink of an eye.
Being on top allows me the opportunity to sit up and grab a much-needed breath, yet having him instantaneously follow suit to yank up my t-shirt and slip my nipple into his mouth interrupts the process, forcing me to whimper instead.
“Such a pretty sound,” he compliments prior to moving to the other side. “And such pretty ink…”
The reference to my hockey sticks heart tattoo on the top of my tit – that’s usually covered by most of my clothing outside of swimwear – heats my cheeks.
Flutters something in my stomach.
Tempts me into looking away.
Wiggle elsewhere.
“I love that you love what I love.” His tongue lazily whirls around the nearest nipple. “I love that you’re not afraid to love what you love.”
He grazes the wet peek with his teeth eliciting an airy cry, “Tanner…”
“Lafleurhavemercy,” rattles the male underneath me, teeth teasing the hardened nub once more, “say my name again…” Blue eyes I hate myself for having fantasized being underneath me as often as I have longingly peer up. “Please. Arden.” The tip of his tongue takes a single lick. “Say my name again.”
Rather than give him exactly what he wants, I rip off my t-shirt.
Lean slightly backwards.
Cock a sassy smirk and state, “Earn it, twenty-eight.”
The growl that escapes is possessive.
Primal.
“You want me to fucking earn it, Ducky?” Scooting us to the very edge of the bed occurs next. “Give me two on the PP.”
I latch my palms onto his t-shirt covered shoulders. “Clocks ticking, Frosky.”
“No,” he definitively grunts, fingers skating along my spine towards my ass. “You call me twenty-eight or Tanner when you’re in my bed.” The digit doesn’t stop gliding until it’s inside my shorts, gently nudging at my smooth pussy from the back. “Or on my cock.” To my surprise, he doesn’t shove it deeper or harder, he simply continues light, teasing pushes. “Understood?”
“Understood,” I quietly concede on a small rocking of my hips.
“Look at that,” he taunts during another faint nudge inward. “You can follow a play.”
“That PP clock is running.” Craning my face towards his is accompanied by a crooked grin. “And it doesn’t look like you’ll be scoring any time so-” Tanner’s finger suddenly curls causing my back to the do the same, “Ohmyg-”