Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
I push up into a sitting position, scooting closer to the edge once more, and grab a handful of his soiled sweatshirt. My legs part, and he steps in until his thighs meet the cool metal. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move, other than the way my freeing him of his clothes requires.
My lungs swell as his body comes into view, his chest on full display for me for the very first time. Even on the beach, he wore a shirt that hid it.
“You should take your shirt off more often.” My breath is a throaty, desire-filled mess, and I’m pleased when his chuckle sounds just the same.
My eyes fly straight for the tattoo I’ve admittedly fantasized about.
I wondered how it would curve, what it would hold and how far it reached, but seeing it along his skin is like nothing I could have cooked up.
It’s fascinating, dark and defined.
It spans from his upper arm and stretches along his left peck. There’s a goal line, and a football that looks as if it’s tearing through from inside his skin, but it’s the script curved along the threading of the ball that calls to me. It’s foreign, Latin maybe, and beautifully scrolled.
“What does this mean?” I wonder, hesitantly lowering the pads of my fingers to his skin, tracing over the words in slow motion.
“Can’t tell you.” He shivers, and my lips twitch, my palms flattening over him as I lean closer.
“Can’t or won’t?” I peek up at him as I press my lips to his chest, scooting more to the edge so I can skate them higher.
I glide along his collarbone, to his neck, pausing when I reach his ear. I take a deep breath and Noah’s forehead falls to my shoulder, his hands finding the space at my sides.
I don’t say anything, just breathe against him as my touch dares to go lower. I trace the ridges of his abs, getting acquainted with every cut of his masterfully constructed muscles.
He’s hard in all the right places, and I’d bet if I went lower, I’d find him hard there too.
I can sense it in the way his abdomen clenches, in the short puffs breaking along my bare chest.
My nipples harden in my bra and now I’m the one shivering.
That gains Noah’s attention, and his head lifts, the heat in his eyes almost unbearable. “It’s getting colder.”
“I don’t feel cold.”
His nostrils flare, and he dips down, gripping my hair in his hands and twisting it over his fist, water dripping down his forearm and splattering onto my spine. I jolt forward, and Noah twists to catch my lips with his own. He kisses me hard this time. It’s almost in punishment, and completely fucking addicting.
“It’ll be my fault if you get sick.” He speaks between swipes of his tongue. “I can’t have that.” He reaches for the hoodie beside us, the one he brought out for me, but I dart my hand over his to pause his movements and snag the one he intends to wear first.
He gives a small warning glare, but when my husky chuckle follows, his need to know what comes next has him relenting. With a tight frown, he allows me to pull his over him.
He quickly shoves his arms inside, swiping mine up and preparing to do the same, but I drop my palms onto the tailgate once more, and begin scooting backward. I don’t stop until my fingers scratch against the nylon of his tent.
His brows dip low as I blindly find the zipper, my hand gliding along until it’s over my head, the opening falling against my back.
Noah’s jaw ticks as he kicks out of his wet bottoms, quickly stepping into his dry pair. He fists the clothes he has for me and then he’s crawling over me, with me, as I guide us into his tent completely.
Still slightly uncertain, he’s slow to close us inside, and I want to erase his hesitation that I know only stems from his concern for me, because I somehow feel none.
I’m not embarrassed, unsure or anxious.
I don’t have that twist in my gut that’s warning me away as if afraid he’ll push me away.
He would never.
Looking at him, into his blue eyes, my mind isn’t muddled.
It’s calling his name.
There’s something about Noah that frees me. With a single look or unspoken notion, he settles parts of me I don’t know need settling, and while I don’t fully understand it yet, I know I want to.
And right now, I want to get to know him a little better. A little… differently.
I fall back onto his pillow, and he follows. While his body hovers over mine, no part of our skin is touching, but the heat of him is present, and a ripple of anticipation works its way through me.