Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
The lyrics are powerful and poignant in a way that makes goose bumps roll up my spine.
The music is heavy with need—and so is my vagina.
And all I can think of is the dancing scene I wrote between River and Clive, and how amazingly close I was to getting it right.
The feelings River had, the sensation of Clive’s hands on her, the staccato pant of her breath—it’s all real and then some as Chase moves us to the music, swaying our hips as one.
We are as close as two people can get without having sex. And his confidence is enough to keep even the rhythmless on beat, and as a member of that particular club, I’m super thankful not to be looking like a wounded turtle.
But mostly, I’m just consumed. By the feel of his hands on my hips and the warmth of his skin beneath his white collared shirt.
I run my hands up his chest, and his eyes stare down at me. That blue gaze of his is locked with mine, and for the first time, I don’t feel nervous or awkward or like I need to look away. I want to wrap myself in the ocean that is his eyes and stay there forever.
And even though the song lyrics say that words are unnecessary, I feel the opposite.
I want to say something—I want to say something badly. About how I’m feeling or, I don’t know, how much I want him, but with the volume of everything around us, I’m pretty sure it would fall on deaf ears.
But maybe…maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I can say all the things I’m feeling—all the thoughts that are screaming inside my head—and not even have to face the consequences.
If he’s not going to be able to hear me anyway…what’s the harm?
Wanton and wild, I throw caution to the wind and tell him all the things I haven’t been able to get out of my mind since the first day I met him.
“I’m so, so into you, Chase. Your body, your personality, your wittiness—God, I think it’s all so sexy.”
Time slows between one moment and the next, and before another cognizant thought can enter my mind, Chase’s lips are on mine, and his fingertips press deeper into the flesh of my hips as he pulls me even tighter against him.
Panic at the thought that he obviously heard me is quickly squashed by the feel of his tongue on mine. Sweet Jesus, this is…everything.
Supple and demanding, his tongue leads the kiss on a journey of exploration and taste that even I, a creative, couldn’t have imagined. It’s skilled, but not stuffy or formal or formulaic in any way. It feels like he’s got the blueprints to my mouth and has been planning a heist of it with the crew from Ocean’s Eleven for at least a month.
I…I can’t believe I’m not dreaming.
Chase Dawson is kissing me. Chase Dawson is kissing Brooke freaking Baker, and I didn’t even have to kidnap him and hold him at gunpoint to make him do it.
He moves his hands from my hips to my face, directing my attention back to the kiss in the hottest, most commanding way. I swear it’s as if he knew my mind was wandering and, even better, knew how to get it right back on track.
I moan into his mouth, vibrating the air around us and making the skin of my neck pebble with goose bumps. My nipples are hard beneath my dress, and a throbbing, undeniable ache has set up residence between my thighs.
His hips are still pressed against mine, making the bulge of his arousal unmistakable.
God, I want him so badly; I don’t know if I can stand here much longer without my legs giving out.
I don’t know if Chase can read my mind or if he’s just feeling the urgency himself, but he grabs my hand and drags me toward the front door of the club in a hurry. I glance over at Benji in the booth, and he’s already jumping down to follow us.
We weave through the crowd of people with ease—Chase must have a map for that too—and are out the door and on a dash to the elevator and our room in no time.
I don’t say anything; I can’t. He doesn’t either. At least, not with words.
But the hold of his hand is tight and strong, and the hard line of his jaw is practically carved from the letters s, e, and x.
My stomach turns slightly as we step into the elevator, and I have to shake my head to stop it.
Surely it’s just nerves, wrapping themselves around the opportunity of a lifetime that sits before me. The opportunity to make a man I’ve been fantasizing about mine for the night.
The cart zooms up to our floor, and when my stomach does some kind of backflip combo, I swallow hard against it.