Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
I drag my fingers through her hair, tugging it. “Suck my cock.”
“You’re impatient.” She squirms her ass. “I want to take it slow.”
“I want to fuck your sweet little mouth.”
Her eyes widen. “Say that again, Keats.”
I yank her hair to get her eyes on me. “I want to fuck your sweet little mouth.”
Her lips envelop me before I can register what’s happening.
I groan from the burst of pleasure that slides up my spine. “Fuck, yes.”
She takes control. Her hand cups my balls as she glides her mouth over the length of me.
I drive my cock up and into her mouth, over and over again. I’m fueled more by the soft sounds of pleasure escaping her and the slickness of her tongue over my flesh.
I close my eyes and give in to all of it.
It’s not just the driving need to orgasm.
It’s the vulnerability and the feeling that I’m falling in love with this woman.
***
Maren walks into my bedroom after a shower, wrapped in my navy blue bathrobe.
I almost drop to my knees from the sheer beauty of that.
This is the life I want. I want this to be my every day.
“We should eat,” she says from the doorway.
I swipe the back of my hand over my lips. “I ate, but I’m ready again. Get on the bed. I want you on your knees this time.”
I ate her after we fucked.
She told me she didn’t think I could come again after the load I shot down her throat, but I’m always up for a challenge.
She laughs. “Don’t make me laugh, or I might hiccup.”
“I fucking love when you hiccup.”
Her hands drop to her hips. “You swore, Keats.”
“I’ll write a check for a hundred grand this month.” I scrub my hand over my chin. “That gives me room to curse a few more times.”
She starts toward me. “I can order some food.”
“Or I can cook for you,” I offer.
Her eyes narrow. “You cook?”
Tugging on the belt of the robe, I pull her toward me. “I’m an excellent cook.”
Her arms reach for my bare shoulders. Her eyes travel down my body, stopping at the waistband of my boxers. “What we did was incredible. I loved all of it.”
I love all of you.
Fear stalls those words inside of me.
“I did too,” I offer with a kiss on her lips. “You’re amazing, Maren.”
Her eyes search mine for something, but I can tell by the expression on her face that she doesn’t find what she’s looking for.
“What will you cook?” she questions with a purse of her lips.
“Hot dog pizza?”
She scrunches her nose. “What’s the second choice?”
I huff out a laugh. “Who said there was a second choice?”
Her pointer finger lands in the middle of her freckled chest. “Me.”
I stare at the sliver of skin exposed by the opening of the robe. I want to count those freckles and catalog them in my mind for eternity.
“Your second choice is leftovers.”
She inches up on her heels to press a kiss to my jaw. “I love leftovers.”
I grab hold of her chin to keep her in place. I stare into her eyes. “You like this, all wet and wild, makes me wonder how anything this beautiful can exist.”
Her lips press together. “Wow.”
“Wow, is right.” I brush my lips over hers for a soft kiss. “You’re the definition of wow.”
I hold her there until she starts to pull away. “I should get dressed.”
“No.” I reach down to tighten the belt around her waist. “Wear my robe to dinner, and don’t mess with your hair. I want you just like this when we eat.”
“I won’t change a thing,” she reassures me. “I’ll stay like this for as long as you want.”
Forever.
I want her just like this forever.
Chapter 48
Maren
Why do moments this perfect have to be punctuated by bullshit?
That’s a real question.
Whenever I feel my life is sailing along toward bliss, a hurricane creeps up and wipes out my happiness.
I stare down at the screen of my phone while Keats heats up pasta he ordered in for his brother and Stevie last night.
He said it’s baked ravioli from Calvetti’s.
It smells incredible.
The lump in my gut isn’t from hunger. It’s from the message that just popped up on my screen.
I reread it.
Hey. I’m following up on Dudley. Were you able to reconnect him with Keats?
I tap my finger over the screen of my phone.
“Maren?” Keats calls my name from where he’s standing next to the microwave. “You look pissed. What’s wrong?”
Was it that noticeable in my expression?
I drop my gaze back to my phone to reread the first message this woman sent to me weeks ago when I found Dudley.
I met that dog when I stayed at his owner’s place. Keats Morgan is the man you’re looking for. He’s a fun trip. Enjoy the ride!
“It’s nothing,” I say.
Keats wipes his hands on a towel near the sink. “Tell me, Maren.”