Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
It’s a command, and while I’m generally hot for every alpha bone in Damion’s body, this is personal and painful, and my defenses flare. I twist out of his arms with every intent of placing the stool between us, but he catches my arm and pulls me back to him. “Don’t run.”
“You don’t get to tell me what I do or do not do, Damion. And if living with you means that’s how we operate, I’m not moving in with you.”
“You know this isn’t about me telling you what to do.”
“It sounded exactly like that,” I snap back.
“Come on, baby,” he says, his voice velvety soft. “I’m protecting you.”
“By controlling me?”
“Somebody has to snap you to your senses for your own good.”
Now he’s gone to the wrong place. “And that somebody is you?”
“Consider this an intervention. They need therapy, not another deposit from your bank account.”
“You’re acting like an asshole. You don’t get a say—”
“Really? Is that where you’re going with this? I don’t get a say, Alana? When do I? When I marry you?”
Emotions explode inside me—years of painful emotions—and I’m embarrassed all over again when I’m already mortified over my parents. The combination is combustible. “Don’t throw this damn ring in my face again. But since you did, I don’t need to wear it anymore. The farce of an engagement is over. And the whole thing is starting to feel like I’m just pathetic and shouldn’t be here.” I shove against him and try to push away. God, please just let me end this.
But he won’t let that happen. While I’ve tried to distance myself from him, he’s molded me closer, his hand at the back of my head, our mouths close as he says, “If I had my way, I’d officially propose to you right this minute, right here, but I need you to hear what I have to say to you. I need you to know everything. And I’m scared shitless to tell you those things, Alana.”
A breath later, his mouth is on mine, his tongue stroking wickedly hot against mine, the truth of his words in his kiss, and I’m drugged with the taste of him and all he has confessed. The instant I sink into the kiss, we’re on fire, all over each other, kissing, touching, and hungry for each other in every possible way.
He groans with my hand on his crotch and yanks my skirt up. I end up flat against a wall, and we’re both frenzied, struggling with his belt and pants. When he’s finally free, his thick erection between us, he shoves aside my panties, pulling my leg to his hip and presses inside me. He’s hard—so very hard and thick. I gasp with the intensity of him entering me, and he cups my backside, driving deeper. My arms wrap his neck, and his hand slides under my shirt, cupping my breast, deft fingers managing to hold me up and still tease my nipple, thrusting and pulling me down against him.
Never once do I think I’ll fall or that he’ll drop me. I fell plenty of times when we were kids. He always caught me. He’s driving into me, and I’m pressing into him, and the world fades. There is just me and this man, who is everything to me. I am desperate for him, and I can feel his desperation for me. I need more. I have to have more. My orgasm comes hard and fast and without warning. I spasm around him, burying my face in his neck as I gasp with release.
He groans, low, guttural, the intensity of the sound vibrating through me even as he shudders, the warm, wet heat of his release filling me. Seconds pass, and we still, and for a long, few moments, he holds me, his face buried in my neck, his arm tightening around me as if he doesn’t want to let me go. And it’s a good feeling. I don’t want him to let me go.
Slowly, he eases back and stares down at me, his sea-blue eyes stormy, and he says just what I’d thought. “I’m not letting you go. I will not let you go.”
There’s such fierceness to his words, like a man standing in war, holding a sword, and I’m suddenly remembering what he said to me before we got lost in the throes of passion. I’m scared shitless to tell you those things, he’d confessed, of whatever he fears his father will tell me first.
“I know whatever it is you don’t want to tell me is bad, but I’ve a lot of practice loving you, Damion. Years are not torn down with words and mistakes.”
He draws in a breath and presses his forehead to mine. “Where’s the bathroom? I need to get you cleaned up.”
“Off the living room,” I say, and as he lifts me and carries me that direction, I have this sense that he’s holding onto the intimate moment for as long as he possibly can. As if he feels there will never be another.