Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Then she’s shifting beneath me again until I’m on my back and she’s on top of me.
Straddling my shoulders, her supple ass to my face.
Brazen, bold, and a little bit greedy.
The sight of her like this—powerful and wanting and so fucking wet—is almost more than I can take. I grip her hips to steady myself and pull her down to my mouth.
Fuck, she tastes like pure sweet water.
She cries out when my tongue finds her clit, thighs tensing around me before relaxing into the rhythm I’m setting. She adjusts herself, leaning forward, and now her hand is curling around my cock again, guiding me to her mouth.
Taking me in so deep I see stars. Nothing has ever felt this good or this right or this utterly insane.
I lose track of everything but the wet heat of her mouth on me and the taste of her on my tongue. She’s moving against me now with abandon, matching each thrust of my hips with one of her own until I’m not sure where one of us ends and the other begins.
The world narrows to sensation—warmth and wetness and pressure building impossibly fast—and then she’s shuddering above me, crying out around a mouthful of me as she comes apart. The feel of it on my tongue sends me spiraling after her, groaning into her skin as I find my own release, shooting into her mouth.
She swallows me down, but I keep coming and coming until finally I’m spent.
Aubrey moves off me, just enough to sprawl across the blanket beside me, breathing hard. After a few minutes, when the world seems to be solid again, I push back her damp hair so I can see her face.
She looks at me with something close to wonder. It makes my heart trip all over again.
Not sure I like being reminded that I have a heart on the line.
12
AUBREY
The water drips from my hair, tracing cold rivulets down my back despite the morning sun warming my face. Jensen walks a few paces ahead, his shirt still damp in patches where he hadn’t bothered to dry off properly. We haven’t spoken since getting dressed and leaving the watering hole, since I’d seen something like regret cloud his eyes.
I hope it wasn’t regret. I know he said last night that there was no us, but I still don’t want things to get weird and awkward. I want our physical encounters to remain separate, a way for the two of us to blow off steam. And then some.
“Might as well explore some of the trails before we head back,” he finally says.
I hitch my pack higher on my shoulder, willing my body to forget the feel of his body against mine. “I know.”
I turn my attention to our surroundings. The forest is alive, dappled sunlight filtering through the pine canopy, birdsong floating on the gentle breeze. It’s hard to believe we’re searching for my sister’s remains in this peaceful place. Hard to believe anything bad could happen here at all.
But I know better.
Jensen stops abruptly, head tilting as he studies the ground. I nearly run into his back, catching myself at the last moment. He crouches, fingers hovering over something I can’t see.
“What is it?”
“Trail’s been disturbed.” His voice is different now; focused, clinical. The tracker, not the man whose dick had been down my throat twenty minutes ago.
I kneel beside him trying to see what he’s looking at, our shoulders almost touching. “Animal?”
“No.” He points to what looks like perfectly ordinary dirt to me. “See how the pine needles are arranged? Too deliberate. Someone tried to cover their tracks here.”
“Recently?”
His eyes scan the forest floor, following something invisible to me. “Hard to say. But it’s heading away from the main trail. Toward those rock formations.”
I look in the direction he’s indicating, a small ridge of granite jutting from the hillside, maybe half a mile away.
“Probably nothing,” he says, but he’s already moving toward it, his stride purposeful. “Still worth checking out.”
I follow, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders move beneath his shirt, trying to focus on why we’re here. On Lainey. Not on how Jensen McGraw tastes like pine and river water and something wild I can’t name.
“You’re thinking it could be connected to Lainey?” I ask, falling into step beside him.
“Nah,” he says. “But we camped here last night, so it’s worth looking to see if anything or anyone else was…around.”
He’s careful not to give me false hope, I’ve noticed. Never promises anything he can’t deliver. It should make me trust him more, this careful honesty. Instead, it makes me wonder what else he’s being careful about.
The path Jensen follows is barely visible, more intuition than trail. I’m not sure how he sees what he does, but there’s no denying his focus, the way his eyes catch on details I would walk right past.