Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
He wasn’t particularly interested, but they were hard to miss when they were practically being thrust in his face. He jerked his eyes to the side, to find another—similarly underdressed—pair of tits aimed in his direction.
“Hiiii,” the owner of said breasts purred—her voice a shade less grating than Pink Bikini’s. “You must be Niall Hawthorne. I’m Allegra Abernathy.”
“And I’m Antonia Abernathy,” Pink Bikini chimed in.
“Right.” Cade nodded curtly, slicking his hair out of his face, annoyed to have his swim interrupted and not particularly inclined to stand here making small talk with Abernathy’s high-pitched, overly-keen daughters.
“Sorry to interrupt your swim,” the slightly less shrill one said, not sounding the slightest bit apologetic. “We’ll get out of your way, won’t we, Toni? Just sit over on the side and catch some sun, while you do your thing.”
Cade was torn, he wasn’t up to making the inevitable inane small talk that would follow his swim—he’d never been much of a talker— but he definitely needed the exercise to clear his mind and recover from the long flight. He heaved an impatient sigh and gave the sisters another abrupt nod before turning away to continue with his laps. Maybe, if he stayed in the water long enough, they’d get bored and wander off.
Fern stood at her bedroom window and watched her stepsisters lounge by the poolside, shamelessly doing their damnedest to catch the man in the water’s attention. He’d been at it for half an hour now, propelling back and forth without stopping while Allie and Toni draped themselves appealingly along the edge of the pool. First, they’d sat with their legs in the water, kicking up little fountains of sparkling droplets, whenever he passed by. When that failed to draw his attention, they dragged a couple of loungers almost all the way to the edge of the pool and stretched out on those.
That was when the sultry application of sunscreen had begun. After they’d both slathered the shiny oil all over their fronts, they’d started to seductively rub each other up. The entire production had been pretty disturbing, considering they were sisters and not at all as in to each other as the bizarre, intimate stroking would suggest.
Fern was embarrassed on their behalf and when first Allie, then Toni, removed their bikini tops—Fern cringed. Meanwhile, Cade Hawthorne hadn’t so much as glanced at them after their initial attempts to strike up a conversation with him.
He was an impressive sight to behold. Almost machinelike in his relentless endurance, arms and legs pistoning powerfully as his large body knifed cleanly through the water. Fern could barely tear her eyes away from the play of muscle and sinew in his broad shoulders and strong back. She hadn’t seen this much of him during their encounter. His shirt had been half unbuttoned but not completely removed, and she now regretted losing the opportunity to run her hands over that smooth, beautifully muscled expanse of tanned skin. It had all been so new, so overwhelming, so shockingly intimate that she still blushed at the memory two months later. The urgent whispers, and the soft, shocking touches in secret places.
She swallowed as she fought back the memory of how brazen she’d been. She’d grasped the hard length of him and had marveled at the girth around which she could barely wrap her fingers. A part of him that she’d never seen, but had felt, stroked, squeezed, and with which she’d become breathtakingly, closely acquainted.
Her breath hitched at the recollection of the shocking press of his hardness against—then inside of—her yielding flesh. It had been revelatory. And like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
She hadn’t been certain she liked how vulnerable it made her, or how she felt like she’d lost a vital part of herself in the process.
And—while singular—there had been none of the expected symphonies or crashing waves or shooting stars. Nothing but short, harsh, impatient exclamations from him and quiet, uncomfortable moans and sighs from her. Followed by pain, a dull, confusing throbbing… then a sharp burst of profanity from him and a quick withdrawal just as she was starting to feel something profoundly hedonistic.
The whole incident had been bewildering and a little anticlimactic.
Yet, as soon as he’d withdrawn from her body, she’d missed the heat of him, the hardness inside and around her. Missed his breath on her face, his delicious, fresh scent, his invasion of her every sense.
He’d been unable to meet her eyes afterwards. Making her feel like she’d done something wrong. He’d apologized—quietly, quickly, almost fiercely—and had fumbled to check his phone. Then he’d bowed stiffly and left her there feeling distinctly undone, unfinished, and unraveled. She’d felt an inexplicable sense of loss and grief after he’d gone.
Fern had remained hidden in that room for hours, before gathering up the remnants of the tattered pride that had lain strewn all around her and leaving. The gala had still been in full swing. Of Cade Hawthorne there’d been no trace, and Fern tracked down Toni and Allie to inform them she was leaving. They’d mocked her of course, called her a boring nun who couldn’t even stay up past midnight, and Fern had fled with the sound of their grating laughter ringing in her ears.