Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
She lifts her head, looking at me.
I soften my gaze. “I’ve been dreaming about you for a long time.”
Her kind eyes smile at me. “Well, since I was like ten or eleven anyway.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
She laughs and climbs up my body, straddling me. She just had to remind me how old she was when I was twenty-four.
Leaning down on one hand, she holds my face and looks into my eyes. “Life is going to kill you eventually.”
I gaze up at her.
“It’s going to kill us all,” she says. “But you’re a monster, you hear me? They will have to rip you from this world. You’re strong in your head, and you’re strong in body, and you …” She pins me with a hard stare that takes my breath away. “You. Do. Not. Stop. You will never stop.”
I don’t blink.
“They will all know …” she tells me, “that if you’re not dead, then you’re not done.”
I suck in a breath, catching her as she comes down on my mouth. I kiss her, arching up, the power of her lips coursing through mine, into my head, and down my body.
I grow hard underneath her, and she reaches down, fisting my cock.
“And I’m not that sweet and innocent,” she teases.
I gasp as she strokes me, and I grab her ass in both hands, pressing her into my body. God, I could fuck her ten more times tonight.
But I meet her eyes, coming in to nibble her mouth. “You’re not sweet and innocent? Is that so?” I taunt.
I pull away, seeing her disappointed look when I crash back to the bed. I pick up a stuffed toy between her pillows and hold it up. “And what the fuck is this?”
She sits up, her beautiful naked body on display, but her expression looking oh so sweet and innocent. “A taco.” She grabs it away from me, holding it to her body protectively. “I mean, obviously.”
I pick up another one, which she grabs.
“A burrito,” she says.
And another one.
“Broccoli.”
She snatches them all away, and I’m tempted to ask what possessed her to buy a stuffed broccoli toy, but then she’ll tell me, and I really don’t care as long as she keeps them off our bed at home.
I pluck the toys away from her and throw them to the side. Taking her hips, I push up and suck on her breast as I fit myself back inside her for the fourth time tonight.
She pants, moving up and down my cock. “I would scold you and say we need some sleep now,” she tells me.
“But I’m hard again.”
“And I’m the one who takes care of you.”
I press my lips to hers, slipping my tongue into her mouth and dying for more. And more and more.
“Swim to me,” she says.
More.
I don’t stop. I will never stop.
27
Krisjen
He pulls away as I try to thread his necktie around his collar. “Don’t bother,” he says. “I’m just going home.”
But I smile, feeling my cheeks warm. I stand on a chair in front of him in just my underwear, and he squeezes my ass with both hands, pulling me in.
“I like it.” I start to tie his tie, which I learned how to do last spring when Clay wore one to the debutante ball. “You in these clothes does to me what me in my underwear is doing to you right now.”
I shift ever so slightly, brushing my thigh against his hardening groin.
He moves in, taking my nipple in his teeth, and my stomach drops so fast I let out a small laugh-gasp. He sucks and kisses, and I close my eyes as my body starts to stir again.
I’m a mess. An exhausted, happy, delirious mess. My hair needs to be combed, and my body needs to be washed. He was inside me more than he was out last night.
And I miss him already.
Clay’s mom once told us that young people—especially young women—fall in love too easily. Too quickly. I thought I loved Milo. Even when he was cruel.
Then I learned. And I kept learning. Every time Macon sat at the table. Stood at the kitchen counter. Walked into a room. Lifted a bottle to his lips. Ran his hand through his hair. Looked at me. Didn’t look at me.
Worked in the garage too long. Didn’t eat his food. Moved around the house at night.
What makes him different from anyone else?
“Krisjen …” he whispers, his hot breath caressing my skin.
And I hold his head in my hands, grazing my lips over his forehead.
That’s what’s different. I always hear him. Even when he says almost nothing.
I’m glad I’m not pregnant. Yet, anyway. I just wanted to see what he would say.
But I want to make sure he loves me, and I want a chance to make certain he wants it. What he said that morning in the bathtub about being worried that he would fail a woman and his children …