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)
She brought her lips back to his, quieting him. She didn’t want him to speak of anything other than now. No promises. No plans. She knew at least part of him still carried misplaced guilt for what had been done to her, and it wasn’t necessary. It had been done to him too. If this helped alleviate that false concept, then she was glad because this wasn’t only for her. But it shouldn’t be more.
She turned toward him as they kissed, sliding her leg over his hip and bringing their cores together. His breath hitched, and he pulled back slightly, looking in her eyes, reading her. His left hand splayed on her skin, over her heart.
She moved her arms, cupping his hand between hers and bringing it to her lips. He sighed as she kissed his fingertips, slowly, one by one. “How is it?” she whispered. “Really?”
“Stiff. Sore. But it works,” he said on a small breath-filled laugh. “Physical therapy helps. The doctors think that in time, it will be mostly normal.”
“Sort of like the rest of us?” she asked on a smile. She’d said it jokingly. But really, it was true. Or so she hoped.
“Exactly,” he said, a smile flitting over his lips. “Mostly normal. In time. It’s a pretty good prognosis, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. Talking to him like this, so close, their skin bare, was causing her blood to move faster in her veins. She felt warm, hopeful. “As far as prognoses go, yes. It could be worse.”
He laughed softly, and it fell over her like a piece of velvet caressing her skin. She shivered slightly, nipples growing hard. She could feel undone with a throaty laugh. What a nice thing to know.
He leaned in and kissed her neck, his breath hot against her skin. His thumb moved in lazy circles over her nipple. “Good?” he asked.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, good.”
She kept her eyes open. She wanted to feel him, but even more so, she wanted the sight of him emblazoned in her mind, available to retrieve at a moment’s notice. Was it sickness that ensured she’d have the memory of Evan to pull forth whenever she was intimate with another man? Perhaps. Perhaps it was terribly unfair to that unknown future partner. But the alternate visions were far worse. The alternate visions would make any future intimacy an impossibility.
Eventually, you’ll hang on to the feeling of Evan, but his face will blur. Someday. And then she’d be truly free.
She wanted that for him, too, if he needed it. And maybe he didn’t. But she was fairly certain that giving her pleasure was healing him in some small way.
“It definitely works,” she murmured as his hand did magical things to her breast, and his lips curved in a smile.
His hand skimmed her stomach, and tentatively, he used his fingers to part her thighs. She stilled, her instincts telling her to pull away. To run.
“Breathe,” he said, redirecting her thoughts. “And look at me.”
Her breath gusted out, eyes locked with his. They were so blue. As clear as the still morning sky after a long night of rain. He smiled, and it was kind of silly and unexpected, and so she smiled, too, just as his fingers dipped inside her. “Oh,” she whispered. And then she was sensation, anchored to his stroking hand, yet floating into that clear, blue sky, letting herself drift away. God, it was nice to drift. A drug. A beautiful escape. Evan dipped his head, taking a nipple in his mouth, and she cried out, threading her fingers through his soft hair. She could feel him against her leg, hot and hard, but she knew he would spend as long as it took, until she told him she was ready.
She didn’t want it to take too long, though, didn’t want to chance the possibility that she would mentally spiral when her body was responding so well. It was a balance, a delicate one. That goofy smile had helped. Only he would know that.
He moved his finger slowly in and out of her, using his thumb to circle lightly in the spot that made her press toward his hand, seeking more. She parted her legs so he had more access. His scent surrounded her, mixed with a masculine-smelling deodorant and nothing more. She’d know the smell of his skin anywhere. She knew the flavor of his fear, too, and the tang of his blood. But she wouldn’t think about that now. She refused to see his face as it’d been when they were dragged down to hell. She realized she’d closed her eyes with pleasure, and they flew open now. He was watching her. “You’re fine,” he reassured. “Everything’s good. You’re so wet, Noelle. Everything about you is perfect.”
She was wet. She could feel it, feel the way his fingers were gliding in and out, using the slippery evidence of the desire he’d stoked. Her body was still her own. No one had committed her to a life of sexual aversion. She could heal. She was doing it now.