Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 107498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
I tug at his t-shirt.
He pins my wrists to the bed. Straddles me. Stares down at me with that intense, demanding look in his eyes. "Keep your hands over your head."
I nod.
Fuck, the weight of him—
He tosses his t-shirt aside. Reaches around his back to pull something from his pocket.
A condom.
He tosses it on the bed next to him.
Slides off me for long enough to shimmy out of his jeans. Then the boxers.
Fuck, that's...
That's Brendon naked.
He's...
Fuck.
His fingers curl around my wrist. He takes my hand and brings my arms over my body.
Brings my hand to his cock.
Slowly, I wrap my fingers around him.
His skin is soft but he's so hard.
And that's...
The thought keeps screaming in my head.
That's Brendon.
He's in my hand.
He's lying next to me.
He's kissing me, claiming my mouth with his tongue.
He tastes like me.
Brendon tastes like me. It's wonderful and thrilling and absurd.
His hand stays on my wrist. He guides my movements as I stroke him.
Then he's groaning against my lips.
Tugging at my hair.
He tears the wrapper and rolls the condom over his cock.
He pushes my arms over my head and holds them against the bed.
His knees push my thighs apart.
Then he's lowering his body onto mine.
His eyes stay glued to mine as his cock nudges against my sex.
With one swift motion, he thrusts inside me.
Fuck. That's intense. It doesn't hurt, not exactly. It's more like a lot of pressure. Almost too much to take.
"Fuck." I need more. All of him. Even if it hurts.
He's slow about moving inside me. It's a tiny movement. But it still feels intense.
I hold his gaze as he moves faster. Harder. Until I'm getting the full force of him. Until it feels more good than uncomfortable.
Until pleasure is knotting in my core.
"Fuck, Kay." He leans down to press his lips to mine.
He claims my tongue as he claims my sex.
It screams through my head. That's Brendon inside you.
That's Brendon.
That's—
Fuck.
It hurts but it feels good too.
He feels good.
And mine.
It's like the universe is just the two of us.
Like we really are one.
I rock my hips to move with him.
I suck on his lip.
Groan against his mouth.
I soak up every inch of him. Every groan. Every thrust. Every bit of pressure.
He moves harder.
I wrap my legs around his waist.
It's too intense.
I have to pull back.
To groan his name as I go over the edge.
That last bit of discomfort fades.
So the only thing in my body is pleasure.
So much I can barely take it.
He thrusts through my orgasm.
Then he's wrapping his arms around me, moving harder, faster.
"Fuck, Kay." He groans against my neck as he comes.
I can feel it in the way he's pulsing inside me.
It's strange and wonderful and everything.
He's everything.
He's mine.
Right now, he's all mine.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Brendon
It feels so fucking good having Kaylee's body against mine.
I pull her a little closer.
Soak in a little more of her.
Fuck, I can't remember the last time I wanted to cuddle after sex.
That I fucked someone I cared about.
I'm not used to the feelings flooding my gut.
I want to lay like this with her forever.
I want to get my hands on every thought in her head.
I thought I had it bad before.
I had no fucking idea.
What is it Kaylee isn't telling me?
Em might know. She's sitting on the couch, tapping away at her laptop, quiet concentration spread over her face.
The device sings with the Facebook notification sound.
She isn't working. We can talk.
But it's not like I can ask her hey, know any secrets Kaylee's keeping? I need to be smart about this.
I plop on the couch and turn on the TV. "You think Kaylee's happy here?"
"I didn't realize you cared." She closes her laptop, stands, leaves it on the table. Then she collects the dishes on the table and brings them to the sink.
I can't help but chuckle. "You wouldn't have done that last month."
"I like her more than I like you."
"Who wouldn't?"
The water in the kitchen runs. Ceramic clinks together. "Are you really spending Friday night at home?"
"You have a point?"
She moves into the living room. Brushes her red hair behind her ears. "You've been staying home more."
"And you're here because?"
"Did your last date scar you or something?"
"No. Just busy. With the shop."
"Like that Seinfeld episode?"
I arch a brow. Emma loves 90s sitcoms. And 90s Disney movies. And music. It's weird.
"Where George's girlfriend has mono, so he doesn't have sex for weeks, and it makes him smarter."
"Maybe. Am I smarter?"
"I don't think so. Maybe you need to wait longer." Her voice is light. Teasing. Like normal.
"I'll keep that in mind."
Emma takes a seat on the couch. She looks to the TV. "Can we watch The Americans instead?"
I nod. "Why are you home?" I copy her words. "Your last date scar you?" Shit, I usually don't worry about Emma and men. She's tough. She can hold her own. And I'd rather not think about what exactly my sister does in dark movie theaters. But guys can be shit. If someone crossed the line, hurt her— "Do I need to kick someone's ass?"