Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
He tilted his head, smiling softly. He looked nervous, and it made tenderness sweep through her. This was different, then. She hadn’t felt tenderness before, only raw need. “We’ve never kissed,” he noted.
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. It seemed ridiculous. “Haven’t we?”
“I’d remember.”
She supposed she would too. Sometimes she pictured the two and only times they’d had sex, the grasping, the feel of his skin as it slid over hers, the hot press of his flesh as he’d entered her body. She closed her eyes, and she saw him come over her, again and again, to shut out the other visions that threatened. And she was grateful she had those memories. She clutched them the way she’d clutched him all those months ago. They felt like a weapon, a torch among shadows.
“Let’s do it differently this time,” he said. “We’ll go slow. As slow as you need. There’s no rush. No time frame. Okay?” It was as if he’d read her mind. Yes, she had those old memories, but these ones would be sharper, brighter.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, okay.”
He brought a finger to her chin, tipping her face and leaning in. He was sweet. He really was. She’d been so wrong about him for so long. It’d only taken a month and a cage and a fiery escape to bind her to her mortal enemy. A small laugh escaped her lips, and he pulled back for a second, a smile floating over his lips as well. He didn’t ask what was funny.
Her eyes fluttered closed just as his lips touched hers. She knew his taste. Maybe that was because she knew the scent of his breath. Despite the newness of this, their first kiss, in some ways, it felt like coming home. A home where a hundred ghosts dwelled, maybe there to live in peace, but maybe there to rattle their chains deep in the dead of night. He dragged his tongue slowly along the seam of her lips, and she opened, pressing closer.
His arms came around her, and he wove the fingers of his scarred hand through her hair, cradling the base of her skull. That felt good. She’d never been touched that way. She sighed into his mouth and met his tongue with her own.
Before that second-floor room, she’d only kissed three other boys. She barely remembered any of them except that they hadn’t been very good at it. Evan was good. He was very good.
Their kiss was slow. Deep. Divinely passionate. She could do this. He was going to give her all the time in the world, all night if that’s what it took. She was certain of that. And because of it, her confidence grew, and so did her enjoyment.
She melted. Her arms encircled him, and she pressed even closer, running her palms up his biceps to his shoulders and moving her fingers so that his pulse beat beneath them. She felt the bulge in his pants and the heat of his skin. He was turned on, but he did not make a sound. He was attempting to hold back his excitement so that he didn’t rush too far ahead of her.
Their lips broke, and he stepped back, his cheeks flushed and his lips wet from her mouth. He was so beautiful, not just because of his features or his hair but because of the intense concentration on his face as he stared at her and made her heart nearly stop. He gripped the hem of his T-shirt and brought it over his head. He’d obviously been working out. He was strong and sleek. She allowed herself a moment to drink him in before she, too, pulled her shirt over her head.
This was different too. New memories to replace the others. Ones where they weren’t haggard versions of themselves—exhausted, hungry, thirsty, fearful, desperate.
They both undressed, gazes heated as each piece of clothing was removed. She felt the first buzz of anxiety when his erection sprang free, but she breathed through it, toeing her clothes aside and sitting down on the edge of the bed. She lay back, and instead of coming over her, he lay next to her, turning toward her. Evan reached out, moving a piece of hair off her cheek. She felt shy, but excited, intensely present in a way she hadn’t felt in any other part of her life recently. She had the fleeting thought that this was what it would have been like if Evan had taken her virginity rather than the disgusting old man wearing a strange, silver, expressionless mask who’d had onion on his breath and grunted as he’d raped her.
As if sensing her sudden mental distress, Evan pulled her to himself, running his fingers gently over her spine. “It’s hard for me, too, sometimes,” he said at her ear. “To think about touching anyone else. I think about you, Noelle. I can’t help wonder . . .”