Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Do.
Don’t.
Fuck.
I prowl forward again, my body temperature rising with every step, following her until we’re in the bedroom. She stops at the end of the bed. One nudge has her falling to the mattress. The way she gazes up at me could break me. With so much trust. So much love. I plant one fist into the sheets by her leg, the other on the other side, and crawl up, settling just right so my face is in line with her stomach. And I worship every inch of her skin, kissing her from one side to the other, over and over, inhaling her scent, kissing her scar, as she weaves her fingers through my hair, humming happily. Sometimes, just being like this, so fucking close, so fucking in love with her, is as good as being buried inside of her.
Sometimes.
I kiss my way up to her face, tasting and smelling the sweet mango, and roll my hips, slipping into her easily. Her legs circle me, her arms hold me, her mouth adores me. Her breathy whimpers, my low grunts, her shallow cries, my extended moans, all mingle and meld together, creating the most beautiful music to make love to. My lips never leave hers. My groin grinds constantly. Her hips meet every roll. And when her short nails sink into my shoulders and she stiffens all over, I kiss her harder, pump firmer, groan louder.
Her yell of release triggers mine, and I come with force, groaning into her mouth as she whimpers into mine. And our eyes open at the exact same time. Meeting.
Love colliding.
I smile, inhale, and bury my face into her wet neck, tasting the salt of the air and of her sex sweat. “I missed you today,” I whisper, wondering why today more than any other day. Perhaps because after the call I took last night I know our time here with the sunshine constantly on our faces is coming to an untimely end. Life in St. Lucia is unbeatable. In fact, before last night, I was considering suggesting we buy a place here. Although I know that was already happening without saying.
“What’s going on with Danny and Rose?” Beau asks quietly, stroking soft circles across my back, making my shoulder blades pull together, my teeth gritting.
“You noticed something too, huh?”
“Yes, but she was cagey.”
“So was he.”
“So you don’t know what’s happened?”
“Not a clue. He hardly spoke a word the whole time I was with him.” I lick her skin, bite at her flesh, kiss her throat, and she writhes beneath me, sighing.
“So you didn’t discuss the fact that you both killed the wrong man?”
I smile into her skin before pulling out. “Actually, you killed the wrong man.”
Her nose wrinkles. “I was getting fed up with you two toddlers arguing about who was going to get the honor and pull the trigger.”
“Us two toddlers?” I ask, subtly laying my arm over hers above her head, effectively trapping them. She stiffens everywhere, which means her internal muscles squeeze my softening dick. It’s a fight to resist recharging and going again. “You want to recant that?” I walk my fingers down to her ribs, my look expectant, and she’s laughing before I even start tickling her. The sight is nothing short of perfection.
“Nope,” she says, and suddenly she’s moving. So fast, I don’t have a moment to consider what the fuck is happening and how the fuck it’s happening. I land on my back with a thud and Beau is straddling me. I look around, seeing I’m on the floor. “Do you submit?” she asks, making me grin, my mind invaded with a million flashbacks of the very first time I had her pinned to a floor.
“Never,” I breathe.
“Good.” She slams her lips on mine and kisses the daylights out of me, her tongue violent in its swirls, her mouth insatiable. This. Fuck . . . me. I once told Beau I was scared of us. Terrified. And I still am, because loving this hard, loving this intensely, has got to be dangerous.
I roll us, going at her with equal ferocity, fisting her hair, our mouths mad and clumsy.
I hiss. “Fuck.”
Beau pulls away sharply, panting. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say through gritted teeth, pain searing me. I go back to her mouth, but she turns her head, denying me.
“I’m fine.”
“Sure, Rambo,” she mutters, forcing my torso up and looking at the dressing on my shoulder. “It’s wet.” Unimpressed eyes land on me. “Why didn’t you put a waterproof dressing on it?”
“Salt water will do it good.” My chin hits my chest as I peek down, and Beau starts picking at the edge and peeling away the soggy dressing. She reveals a tidy round wound. Doc did a good job. I pluck the bandage from her fingers, toss it aside, and get us back to business, claiming her mouth again, ready to reload and go again.