Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“Hi,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m saying that. I’m just nervous.
“Hey,” Max says, soft and tender, too, and maybe also a little bit nervous. But I think they’re nerves of anticipation. Perhaps of hope.
I didn’t tell him what I wanted tonight.
Just in case I back down.
My stomach swoops, dipping like a boat battered in the North Sea as I fiddle with the top button of my jeans, fumbling once, then undoing it, then the zipper. It sticks and I laugh. “These zippers,” I say.
“Let me help,” he says, steady and reassuring. With a quick tug, he gets it unstuck. He unzips it the rest of the way. With strong, sure hands, he skims the denim down my thighs to my ankles.
I step out.
His eyes drink me in from my bare legs up to the white sweater I’m wearing, landing on my face. He runs his thumb along my jawline. Then he waits for my next move.
But that’s easy still.
“Your turn,” I say as I tug on the bottom of his dark blue Henley and whisk it off. A sigh of appreciation escapes my lips—he’s so strong. But he’s not simply carved and toned from the gym, like an athlete should be. He’s rippling with rugged muscles, tough and battle-tested. He looks powerful in his own skin. His body is trained to stop goals but he can also carry you across the room and set you gently on a bed. Wiry chest hair descends from his pecs down to his abs. His biceps boast a few scratches. A couple blue bruises decorate his forearms.
I want to keep exploring all of him. I run my hands down his arms, tracing all the lines and marks on him, the little blue lakes, the scratches, and even the scar on his eyebrow—that unfairly sexy scar.
My hands roam back down to his strong chest, and I cover his pecs then play with his nipples. He groans, quick, unbidden, a gust of breath coasting across his lips that forms my name like a plea. “Everly.”
Chills erupt over my skin from the sound of him. I drag my nails down his abs.
He shivers.
I inch closer, dip my face to his chest, and run my nose from his pecs up to his throat, where I kiss his Adam’s apple. “Midnight Flame,” I say. Then I revise that to, “My midnight flame.”
He runs his fingers through my hair. “You’re possessive.”
“And you like it,” I say.
He presses an equally possessive kiss to the top of my head. “No. I love it.”
I look up and he lets go of my hair, one hand capturing my waist. I blow out a breath and reach for the hem of my white sweater and tug it off. I’m wearing a tank top along with the white bra and panties. But still I’m standing in front of him with no wall behind me, no couch against my back, no pillows to sink into.
No safety net to hide behind.
I don’t think my heart has ever beat this fast. “Why does this feel like the first time with us?”
He swallows, his expression shifting instantly to something vulnerable and earnest too. “Maybe it is.”
There’s that hope in his voice. A tenderness as well. And something else—something so safe I didn’t know I was looking for it until I found it in him.
Another song begins and that’s as good a reason as any for me to reach for his jeans. He helps me along, unzipping and pushing them down, and in no time they’re off. He’s wearing only a pair of snug boxer briefs that don’t do a damn thing to hide his obvious—very obvious—arousal.
That thrills me. It thrills me so much. I don’t know that I will ever get enough of his want. It’s the opposite of my last experience. It’s the other side of how I felt with Gunnar. It’s the evidence I constantly crave. So I reach for his hard-on, squeezing it, drawing out a sharp gasp from his lips. I run my palm up and down the steely length of him, then look in his eyes. There’s lust there of course. But patience too. He’s been so patient with me.
My heart beats furiously in my throat as I grab the bottom of the tank top and tug it off. I’m standing only in the white lace set I bought last week—a demi-cup bra and bikini panties with little embroidered flowers on the waistband in pinks and purples. His eyes glimmer with heat and also something like awe. “You are just…extraordinary.”
My breath catches but I don’t say a word. I’m afraid to talk. I’m afraid I’ll just sob. I’m not sad. But I am one exposed nerve. I take his hand and walk backward to the bed, bringing him with me. He’s facing me the whole way. I sit on the mattress and look up at him. Like I’m at the edge of a cliff and the water is an inviting crystal blue, I slide a finger invitingly along the strap of my bra then jump off. “Do you want to take this off me?”