Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
And still, I can’t look away from her.
“My Milo.”
I nod, pulling her to straddle me, sliding into her, my hands at her hips, guiding them back and forth. When I die, this will be the last thing I remember—my favorite place in the world.
It’s not that I don’t love Benjamin. I’m honored to have a part of my family still here when I’m gone. I’m in awe of his innocence and humbled by his trust and dependence on me. Life leaves little room for genuine regret. It’s like the times I watched Indie tend to Ruthie’s garden. She had to meticulously pull out the weeds without disrupting the seedlings. I can’t regret the bad without disrupting the good. Acceptance is the best I can do. I accept the young life I created with Jolene, and I can love him without loving her.
Indie’s hair tickles my face when she leans down to kiss me. Everything tightens, a rubber band stretched to its limit. She slows her hips. Leaving me on the edge of losing my fucking mind. I roll us.
Her legs spread wide, knees pulled back as I move faster, letting go of control and releasing again and again. “Fuck, baby … fuck …” I pinch my eyes, stilling deep inside her. It feels … so damn … good.
Like I’m floating.
Hell, maybe I just died.
Her hips lift and lift and lift …
I open my eyes and see it in hers. The need. The verge of another orgasm. It makes me chuckle.
“Milo,” she breathes my name, which is between a whine and a plea.
I rock my pelvis once.
She winces, hips pumping into mine and searching so hard.
“Please don’t stop.” Her fingers curl into my flesh.
Again, I rock into her, stopping to let her rub against me. Watching Indie come undone is an indescribable high. It makes me want to spend every second of every day touching her this way.
She sighs and opens her eyes when her body relaxes for the second time. A shy grin steals her lips.
“My Indie girl.”
Biting her lower lip, she nods. Then her whole body shivers.
“Cold?” I ask.
Another nod.
“Let’s swim back and get you warmed up.”
When we reach the other side of the pond, I use my shirt as a towel while Indie pulls her dress over her wet naked body. I already want her again. It’s not that I think we can make up for four years, but I’d happily try.
“Don’t give me that look.” She leans to the side, wringing out her hair.
I pull up my zipper and shove my feet into my boots. “What look is that?”
“Well, I haven’t seen it in a while, but from what I recall, it’s the look you had the day of the butter incident.” Her fingers comb through her hair.
“You’ll have to be more specific.” I button my wet shirt.
“You don’t remember the butter incident?”
“No. I remember. I just don’t know what look you’re talking about that you think I have right now.”
She saunters a little closer to me. “The one you had right before your face went between my legs.” Biting back her grin, her nose wrinkles.
I chuckle. “Yes, Indie. It’s nothing new. When I’m with you, my mind imagines all sorts of things. And I don’t doubt that I have a distinct expression for each filthy thought.” My knuckles skate along her cheek, and she leans into my touch. Then I cup her breast over her dress and brush my thumb back and forth over her erect nipple. No man has had a bigger death wish than I have right now. Anyone who knew what they were looking for could see us from the back of the house.
Her lips part, tiny breaths matching the rhythm of my thumb. I no longer know what the fuck I’m doing, but I can’t stop touching her.
“Milo …” Our mouths crash together, and her hands cup my neck while her weight shifts to her toes. “Fuck me again,” she mumbles over my lips while one of her hands strokes me on the outside of my jeans.
God, I want her again. The need is painful. I could lift her dress, slide down the front of my jeans a couple of inches, and spread her wide for me against one of the dock posts. Or I could drop to my knees and fuck her with my tongue so that I can taste her the rest of the night.
The answer comes in the form of my phone vibrating in my pocket. The third degree awaits me.
“I can’t, Indie girl,” I say. My brain does a great job of coming up with the correct answer despite my hands gathering her dress and sliding it up her backside, gripping her bare ass while shoving my thigh between her legs and my tongue down her throat.
Indie turns me into an animal. With her, every instinct I have is to take and take. Finding that dock post, I do just that.