Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
His eyes look at me as if he’s asking me a question, but before he even voices it, I tell him, “You’re my first. I was saving myself for my husband.”
Again, his head falls to my chest with a muttered “Fuck.”
There’s an inner debate he has with himself. He looks at me worriedly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I take a deep breath and put my trust in him. “I know you won’t.”
He locks eyes with me and pushes into me gently at first, and he’s stretching me, filling me up. I feel full and stretched as my body accepts him. I know the instant he reaches my barrier. His fingers go to my clit again, and I’m still sensitive from my earlier orgasm, so it isn’t long before I’m ready again, and he pushes through, completely filling me up and taking me.
With each thrust, he whispers against me, “Mine. Mine. Mine.”
I want to reassure him and let him know that I am in fact his, but I’m half out of my mind with the way my body is responding to his. He moans against my neck, kissing me, and my senses are on overload. I can feel him everywhere, and before long, I’m coming again. My heart is racing, there’s sweat on my brow, and I’m panting.
He thrusts once, twice more, and then he’s grunting, filling me with his cum.
“Yes,” I moan.
Completely satiated, I lie listless and limp as he falls down beside me. I don’t know what you’re supposed to do afterward, so I follow my gut and curl into him, kissing his chest.
With his arms circling me, he holds me so tight I can barely breathe, but I don’t ask him to stop. I’ve never felt so safe, so cared for, or dare I say…so loved.
Chapter 9
Mason
I feel like I’m losing my mind.
I keep telling myself it’s not real, but I’ve never felt anything so real as what I feel when I’m with Mia. We’ve been at the cabin for forty-eight hours already, and I haven’t been able to keep my hands off her.
The only thing that keeps me remembering that this isn’t real is thinking about that hug Mia shared at the airport with that Serge guy. Maybe she just wants to be with someone, and it doesn’t matter who it is. Maybe she’s lonely or maybe she believes in fairy tales and things like that. I don’t know the reason, and a part of me is worried about finding out.
Today is Christmas, and I’m lying on the couch recovering from the big breakfast that we had. Mia loved the presents I got her, a soft blanket, a robe with Mrs. Mistletoe printed on the back, and the diamond earrings. Of all her presents, I think she loved the robe the most. Instead of putting it on, I’ve caught her staring at her name since she received it.
She gave me a beard kit, pajama bottoms, and homemade coupons offering back rubs, showers together, and alone time. She took back the shaving kit and the pajamas as soon as I opened them because she decided she likes my beard and doesn’t want me sleeping in pants. Luckily, she let me keep the coupons, and I know I’ll be redeeming those very soon.
“Mason, did you do this?” she asks me, walking into the living room.
She’s holding up the picture I drew of her, but I’m not looking at it. I’m looking at her. She’s in awe of the portrait, and the way she’s looking at me cuts through my walls of defense like a tongue through whipped cream. I sit up, pulling her into my arms until she lands on my lap, and I cradle her there. “Yes. That first night when you were in the bath.”
She shakes her head, confused. “How? I mean, we’d just met, how did you do such a portrait without even looking at me?”
I should be embarrassed. I should just blow it off, but I can’t. “From the first moment I saw you, before I was even sure you were the one I was going to marry, I had committed everything about you to memory. You’re beautiful, Mia.”
“Oh, Mason.” She puts her hand on my chest as her face flushes a pretty pink.
I cup her jaw. “Tell me something about you. Something I don’t know.”
She looks up at the ceiling and back at me. “Uh, I own a winery.”
“What?” I ask her, surprised. “You own a winery?”
“Well, yes. When my parents passed, it was left to me, but I haven’t been there since their death. I haven’t been able to bring myself to go there.” A sadness overcomes her face, and I rub my thumb across her cheek as if I could smooth out her worry lines. “I have people in place to run it, but maybe one day you would want to go there with me?” she asks me hopefully.