Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Holy flaming shit.
“Good girl, Ophelia,” he rumbles, bringing his swollen cock to my entrance. “Now, you get to feel me like never before. Get up and ride me.”
I don’t know what he means as I slide over him again.
Not until a gasping, needy cry explodes out of me as I sink down, engulfing his cock.
“Grant!” His name comes out hoarse, just as broken as the rest of me.
He rises up to meet me, spearing deep.
My legs go weak in under ten seconds and I take him in hard, willing him to fuck me as wildly as he wants.
A jolt rushes through me in bright-hot bursts as he fits me perfectly, fills me, makes me feel a wholeness I’ve never known.
Like I’m not alone.
Like I’ve run away for so long, hid from what I truly wanted, avoided my home, my family, this love and pleasure that was always waiting but I’ve been afraid to claim.
That’s over.
Every rising, rough thrust of his cock says we’re in a new chapter now, and oh, is it glorious.
Grant is mine now and I’m irrevocably his.
I’m not alone any longer in this bed or in this life.
“Look at me before you come again,” he says, his thrusts coming faster, harder.
His eyes hold mine.
So do his hands, lacing through my fingers, steadying me with perfect strength.
This rhythm is deep and raw and delirious.
We flow together, one blazing body, where each of us begins and ends hidden in our pleasure.
He’s never out of tune with me, never lets me go, always clutching so, so tight.
It’s crazy intimate, and as Grant whispers “Ophelia” one more time, I’m totally undone.
Melting against him, kissing him like he’s my next breath, falling into the animalistic flow and the churning feelings stirring up my everything.
I came to Redhaven under a cloud of darkness.
But now, there’s no question what I see as my eyes flutter, as my breath hitches, as we almost break something as he throws himself into it.
As I hear him snarling, “Fucking come with me!”
Light.
Blinding and beautiful, inside and out, overwhelming.
Insane warmth.
Two deprived souls tangled up until our flesh matches our joined hearts.
And with pure wild ecstasy devouring me, I feel him.
The way he rocks his punishing hips into mine and buries himself to the hilt.
His face screws up as he unloads and sets me off again and then it’s all fire. Waves of burning—
No, not waves.
Mountains.
Towering landscapes of absolute flame.
If it’s a sin to come this many times for any man, I accept my punishment.
As Grant pulses inside me and I throb myself numb, we meet somewhere in the brilliant middle.
We make forever.
When I come down from the roaring high, I taste salt on my lips.
My own tears, I think, overwhelmed from the depth of what we just experienced.
And I smile into this timeless moment, opening my eyes and finding his sated and so full of love.
He’s still watching me like I’m the only girl ever made for him.
Raptly, in the truest sense.
My heart convulses.
No one but Grant has ever looked at me like that—and no other man ever will.
Not since he’s claimed me as his.
With his ring, with his love, with his touch, we’re one and the same.
Two perfect hearts rescued from the dark.
Months Later
Okay, I’ll let you in on a little secret.
I always wanted a spring wedding. In my little daydreams about a fairy-tale life with Grant as a little girl, it was always green and warm.
There’d be flowers everywhere.
A sunny day full of butterflies and the smell of blooming plants.
An open-air ceremony under the crisp blue sky with God himself watching and nodding along in approval.
Instead of doves released into the air, we’d have more butterflies, set loose everywhere. Even my dress would be butterfly-themed.
I had it all planned out just like every girl who dreams of her future husband, wondering who she’ll get to be with him.
I just never thought my husband-to-be would spoil me enough by making it flipping happen.
A silly comment started it one night after we collapsed in each other’s arms, sated and sweaty and deliciously sore.
We hadn’t set the date yet, still caught up in the afterglow of getting engaged. Our families were so ecstatic we almost didn’t survive all the hugging and back-thumping and laughing shouts.
I used to write about marrying you, I teased him, swirling my fingers through his chest hair. All the details worked out. I wanted a butterfly dress.
Yeah? He’d caught my hand, held it tight, kissed my knuckles. Tell me. Tell me what kind of wedding you dreamed up.
So I told him.
I just never thought he paid that much attention beyond the idle conversation.
I also never thought Grant freaking Faircross would be the kind of man to take over planning a wedding. I admit I was nervous, when he insisted—but Ros promised to keep him in line and make sure he didn’t make a complete man-bungle of it.