Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
She remains curled in her protective ball. This isn’t going how I imagined, although all the times I did fantasize about this, there were no real steps between seeing her and being in bed with her. Dreams are like that. One minute you’re standing on the street, and the next you’re under the sheets, fucking like banshees. Reality, unfortunately, has all those fucking ridiculous intermediate steps.
“You’ve changed, but so have I,” she cries. “I’m not the same either. I’ve had a child. I’m in my thirties now. I don’t have that tiny little body of a teenager.” She whips off her T-shirt. “Look at me.”
There could be an alien touching down in my backyard and I wouldn’t be interested. Her ripe tits are encased in ice blue lace looking like two scoops of ice cream waiting to be devoured. “I’m looking,” I say, slack-jawed and hungry. “I’m looking, but I want to touch too. You’re so beautiful I could die. You were beautiful then, and you’re beautiful now. Yeah, you’re lusher and curvier, but it’s hot as hell.”
“You’re not. You’re fit. You have abs.” She makes it sound like I robbed a store.
I run a hand over my chest. “I had abs when I was a teen.” I feel slightly defensive about my younger self.
“Not like now. You belong on the cover of Men’s Health, and I should be on Weight Loss Digest, but the before issue.” She flips the comforter over her head and huddles underneath the blasted thing, taking away all her gorgeousness from my view. I drag a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh. Even a dunce like me knows that would kill any chance I have with her. She’s sensitive about her body, which is fine. It’s my job to let her know that I don’t have issues with how she looks.
It’s my job to prove to her how sexy she really is. I start with her feet tucked under the blanket and tug her socks off.
“I’m ticklish,” comes the muffled voice.
“I know.” Her feet have always been sensitive. I run my finger down the center. Her toes curl, and she tries to draw away, but I hold her firm. “Your toenails aren’t painted.” They’re clear and cleaned, clipped short, but without any decoration. She used to paint them pink and put flower or bear or puppy stickers on them.
“Too busy.”
“Your fake boyfriend isn’t doing a good job of taking care of you.” I lift her foot and kiss the top of it.
She flips down the blanket and glares. “No bad-mouthing Sebastian. He’s the reason I’m still alive.”
I glare back. “Don’t mention him in our bedroom.” I give her leg a jerk until she’s flat on her back and the junction of her legs rests on the bottom of my knees. Her hips are tilted up, and she looks particularly edible from this angle.
She wrinkles her nose. “He’s part of my life. I can’t just erase him.”
Too bad. “He doesn’t exist in here. That’s my rule.”
“You were never this bossy when we were teens.”
“You never had another man in your life. That makes me crazy. It doesn’t matter that you never slept with him. Just him being near you for so long when I wasn’t makes me want to tear this mattress apart with my bare hands, so you’re just going to have to suffer my jealousy.” I place a calf over my shoulder and give it a warm kiss as an apology of sorts. The truth is I was mad jealous in the past. I hated when other guys would look at her in the hallways. I wanted to put a collar around her neck that said property of Cooper Donovan, but I don’t think she would’ve liked it much. I hid my crazy so she wouldn’t leave me. Maybe that’s what I should be doing now, but I can’t. I don’t have the energy for that kind of game. My sole focus is making a family with Fischl, the one that we were robbed of.
I slide my hand over her calf, down to squeeze her thigh. “You look hot in these jeans, but I need to have them off.”
Her sassiness immediately switches over to uneasiness, and her hands come to her waistband as if to ward me off. If I didn’t know her friend was gay, I’d have to kill him for not reassuring her every day that she was the sexiest person to walk this godforsaken planet.
“If I can’t take these jeans off, I’ll die, and I know you don’t want to be responsible for that.”
A slight curve tips the corners of her mouth. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Truthful,” I counter.
This time when I reach for her zipper, she lets her hands fall away. She watches me, though. I hope she can see my desire. How my eyes are blazing with want and the small tremor in my fingers is from need.