Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“With everything,” I whisper, tears on my cheeks. “I love you with everything I have.”
He frames my face with those big hands, thumbs brushing at my tears, eyes melded with mine.
“Then you understand why I can’t ever let you go, right?”
I laugh into the kiss he initiates, a mixture of mirth and emotion that has me mumbling against his lips.
“Oh, I’m counting on it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Trevor
The promise of a love like this, the possibility of it, led me to break my engagement with a woman who made perfect sense. This kind of love compelled my father to drive all night to be under the same roof as my mother. I refused to settle for anything less with no assurances that I would ever find it.
But I have, in the most unlikely place I could have imagined. On a billboard in a city where I never wanted to live. My dad used to say when he saw my mom, it was like a click in his head, the sound of his soul locking with hers. Is that what happened to me that day when I saw Sofie up on that billboard in Times Square? Who knows? Who cares? Click or no click, all that matters is that we’re here now, and I haven’t made love to her in two days.
Time to rectify that.
Except her phone keeps beeping with a text alert, and it’s wrecking my moment.
“I should probably get that.” Sofie traces circles on my shoulders with her nails. “It could be—”
“Doesn’t matter who it is.” I reach over to silence the alert, then lie back down to face her, grasping her waist and dragging her into me. “Whatever it is, whoever it is, they can wait.”
“What if it’s important?” Her smile tells me she couldn’t care less about whoever is on the other end of that text.
“This”—I gesture between our two hearts—“is important. Everything else can wait.”
She nods, eyes fixed on me as she takes my bottom lip between both of hers, coaxing my mouth open to her.
“Are you sure, Sof?” I frown, my hands pressing into the subtle curve between her back and her butt. As much as I want this, it was just last night she was weeping on the bathroom floor. Just last night she was unburdening things she’d carried around nearly half her life. “Yesterday was traumatic. I can wait if you need me to.”
“I can’t wait.” She runs her tongue over the scruff of my jaw, dotting kisses over my chin, my neck, my shoulders. “You’re right. Yesterday hurt.”
She pauses, pulling back so I can see the shadow that passes over her face.
“But your love heals me, Bishop.” She lowers her lashes, shaking her head. “I know it sounds silly, but—”
I take that excuse captive with my lips, swallowing any words she would have said. Gently, carefully, like she’s fine crystal, I turn her to her back, positioning myself between her long legs, supporting my weight on my elbows. One hand pushes back her jagged, uneven bangs. My kisses traverse her face, her neck, the fragile bones of her shoulders. I’m steadily moving lower, pausing to suck her plump, tight nipples. Stopping to lick into the hollow of her belly button. Nibbling at her hips.
“God, Bishop, yes.” Her breath catches every time I possess another part of her.
I hook an elbow under her knee, pulling it up. Pushing it back, feathering kisses across the silky skin of her inner thigh, licking and kissing until I reach her sweet center. I force myself to slow down, to take my time. I open her up, pulling the bud between my lips. Dipping my tongue inside. Her whimpers spur me on, making it harder to go slow. The taste of her hits my tongue, and all control slips through my fingers like loose reins. I grab her bottom roughly, pulling her into me, spreading her wider, eating voraciously, with hunger I can’t check. One hand presses her knee back more, the other grazes her stomach on its way to her breast, to knead, to squeeze, to pinch, to roll. To love.
“Don’t you dare stop.” Her fingers plow into my hair as the rhythm of her hips matches the stroke of my tongue. “Please, don’t stop. Don’t…Bishop, don’t—”
Her words dissolve into plaintive cries, her nails digging into my shoulders, her knees pressed into my head as she falls apart, syllables strangled in her throat. I live for this. I’ve waited for this all my life. To have the woman I love this way, an intimacy that comes only with knowing you are loved in the same way you love.
I rise up, propping myself on my elbows, aligning our bodies. I don’t ask if she’s ready. I know she is. Tremors still roll through her, and at the first thrust, I feel her quaking against me. She grips me tight, each time I pull out, her body reluctant to release me. She’s not crystal. She’s not glass, and as much as I wanted to be gentle, my body takes over, mercilessly slaking itself inside her. She anchors her heel behind my thigh, meeting every thrust.