Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
He crushed me against his chest and kissed my temple. “It’s all that fucking matters,” he agreed. “And nothing else is going to change that.”
I reached for his hand and started walking backwards, leading him to the bedroom. He smirked.
“I have a lot to atone for, don’t I?”
“You have no idea,” I said. “My hormones are crazy right now. It’s very possible I might never let you leave this apartment again.”
Clear blue eyes settled on me with a hint of amusement. “I couldn’t think of anything better.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ryland
The weekend passed in a cloud-like dream as I nestled my favorite appendage inside of Brighton again and again.
See, I could be romantic?
Under a self-imposed lockdown, we didn’t leave the apartment once. Phones turned off, business neglected, calls unanswered. Nothing else existed. She was back in my arms. In my bed. Back to letting me have my way with her. It was all going swimmingly.
We hungered for each other. Maddeningly. Obsessively so. But wasn’t that the whole point? Weren’t we all just looking for someone we could fuck until the end of time and chase those euphoric rainbows with?
For me, I had no further to look than the woman cocooned between my legs at present. Her cheek utilized my chest as a pillow without any protest from me. Strawberry gold spilled down her back in tangled curls that my fingers stroked lazily. The lids of her normally waifish eyes were heavy and drowsy under the weight of contentment. The steady thrum of my heartbeat pulsed beneath her, drugging her with its melodic rhythm.
I quietly speculated how long it’d be before she was asleep again. I wouldn’t move. I enjoyed this far too much. Even with a dead arm and a pressing need for sustenance. Now that all was right in my world again, hunger had returned with a ravenous vengeance.
It was a toss-up whether food should be first on the agenda, or another round of marathon fucking. I thought I’d purged it all from my system only twenty minutes ago, but already my cock was stirring again. Briefly, I toyed with the idea of licking rum raisin ice cream off of Brighton’s every curve and valley. Two birds, one stone.
The dilemma was effectively quashed when her fingers traced over the scars on my chest, her brow furrowed. That look meant she was deep in thought, which didn’t bode well for me or my needy cock.
My palms held her against me in a bruising grip, just on the off chance she was rethinking this.
“We need to talk, Ryland.”
I kissed the top of her forehead and smothered my face in her hair. “No, we don’t.”
My lips made a mad dash for her neck, but she stopped me cold.
“I’m serious,” she protested. “You aren’t going to distract me with sex.”
Grabbing her hand, I pressed it against the bulge in my briefs and gave her a boyish grin. “C’mon, let’s get frisky, baby.”
Nothing good could come of talking. I knew this, and yet, she pursed her lips. She usually liked it when I was being smart. Not this time, apparently. Christ, she really wanted to talk.
“What’s the matter?” I sounded more reluctant than a sixty-year-old nun, even to my own ears.
Brighton gave me that look in response. The one that told me to quit feeling sorry for myself and suck it up. So I stroked her back in encouragement even though I only wanted to fuck these thoughts right out of her system, whatever they may be.
“A lot,” she answered. “We have a lot to talk about. But first I want to start with the car crash.”
My spine compressed, and the aggravation in my tone wasn’t well disguised. “No, Brighton.”
“There are things I need to know,” she insisted. “I can’t move forward until I do.”
The tension in my jaw burned all the way down my throat. Six months ago, I’d have told her it was non-negotiable. But as I’d promised you- and her- I was trying to bend. Being the master of your own universe isn’t an easy habit to break. But as I sought refuge in the depths of her hazel eyes, I recognized the significance of her need for this.
I rubbed the back of my neck. No doubt this was going to hurt like hell. I wished I had some whiskey. What’s more, some rum raisin ice cream. My first plan sounded infinitely better than what she had in mind.
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what happened that night,” she said. “How you set it up. How it was supposed to go.”
The rational part of me understood why she was asking, but even now, I pictured her face that night. The blood and the fear. Everything inside of me clammed up, and I felt like a junkie who’d missed his last ten fixes.
“I know it’s hard for you, Ryland.” She cradled my face in her palms. “But I just need to know.”