Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Because he’s tastes good. Like he smells: spicy, lemony, fresh and clean, with a hint of whiskey. Because he’s hot, like stupidly hot, in a way real life people aren’t supposed to be. And because of that look on his face while he was juggling, the same look he gives me when staring into my eyes.
His hands grip my hips, holding me there, as I stand on my toes to wrap my arms around his neck. His tongue enters my mouth, invading my lips, licking and darting, slow and sensual. His lips are hungry and know what they’re doing, and a heat spreads down my spine, a heat despite the chill and the wet sand, pooling between my legs. My nipples stiffen, and crap, I whimper into his mouth as one hand moves up to palm my hand, and the other grabs my ass.
“Come back to my room,” he says, staring into my eyes. It’s that attention again, that focus. Like I’m the only person in the entire world.
I should say no. If I were smart, I’d extract myself from this situation.
Except I’m not smart.
I’m angry, mourning, in a bad place mentally, but also starving for this man.
“Only if you juggle again, Mr. Crowley,” I murmur, grinning.
“That was a one-time event, Keely Something.” He kisses me again, moving to nibble on my ear and neck. “But if you follow me, I promise to put on an even better show.”
“Oh, god,” I moan, a thrill glowing in my stomach. “That was such a bad line.”
“And yet, it’s working.” His thumb brushes down my lips, down my chest, over one hard nipple. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You’re hurting, I get that. Let me make you feel better for tonight.”
“That’s a much better pitch.” I close my eyes as he bites my collarbone gently. He kisses, moving up my neck again. “Promise you can make me forget my dead nana?”
“If I can’t, I’ve completely failed as a man. You shouldn’t be thinking of dead anything when my tongue is buried between your legs.”
“When you put it that way,” I say, heart racing, breathless, “I suppose I could give it a try.”
“Come on.” He takes my hand. I hesitate, glancing back toward the party. Bernie and Jamila will be worried. Heck, even Fulco might notice I’m missing. Though Ash is probably too busy with her other guests. I should tell them I’m going so nobody worries.
But they’ll figure it out. The second Jamila looks around, she’ll notice I’m not there, and neither is Nolan.
“Lead the way,” I tell him, feeling foolish, feeling excited. Feeling good for the first time since my mother called at half-past six, yanking me from sleep to give me the best and the worst news of my life.
Nana, that abusive bitch, is finally dead. I haven’t cried yet. I’m not sure I will.
The Crowley beach house is a mansion. The rooms are dark and quiet. All the guests are staying in nearby hotels—the house is only for family. Nolan takes me in through the back, down a hall, up some stairs. His room’s in a far corner, secluded and quiet. I catch sight of oak furniture, a heavy rug, a fireplace, a bathroom. It’s nautical-themed, no big shock there, though everything is gleaming brass, polished wood, antique patina.
His hands move over my body as we undress. That attention burns into me, a magnifying glass under the sun. I wilt as he kisses me, bites my lips, sucks on my throat, lets my dress drop to the floor, licks my nipples. We tumble into bed, me in a pair of black panties, him in only boxer briefs. His chest is broad, his stomach chiseled. Tattoos swirl in the darkness. I can’t make them out as his mouth covers mine, his hands slowly sliding my panties down.
“You weren’t kidding about making me forget,” I whimper as he teases toward my aching, pulsing pussy. “Please don’t tell me this is something you do often.”
“I won’t,” he says, one finger curling inside me, making my back arch. I gasp as pleasure flits into my skull. “Though honestly, I’ve never brought a woman into my beach house room before.”
“Really?” I run my fingers through his luxurious hair as he kisses my inner thigh. Fuck, this guy is really going down on me? “I find that hard to believe.”
“The beach house is a family space.” He licks me, tonguing along my vulva, spreading me wide before finding my clit. His mouth works my hard bud. My nipples are so hard they might burst. My back arches, whimpers escape my lips. “I don’t bring women here, not unless they matter.”
“I kind of doubt I matter,” I say through my moans. “You just want to fuck me.”
“You matter,” he whispers, fingers curling into me as he sucks and licks my clit. “You matter to me right now, Keely Something. Your taste, your moans. You realize how sexy you are? Yes, I want to fuck you. It’s profane, the way you look in that dress.”