Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Obviously,” Luke snorts. “Look at the state I’m in.”
For a second, I think this is going to go the way of the kitchen and not happen. We’ll go our separate ways, apologize again in the morning, and make sure we aren’t tempted in the future. We’ll blame it on the whisky neither of us drank, on holidays spent, or the freaking full moon or something, because it makes people act crazy.
I’m so sure and unsure at the same time.
Luke’s hand sweeps over my cheek. He has such power in those big hands, but they’re gentle, and his touch banishes the uncertainties. He leans in and kisses me so tenderly that the parts of me still undecided shape up real fast.
All of a sudden, he stands up, and I’m swept into his arms like he’s a freaking white knight from corny songs and cheesy movies. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight, clinging to him. Ducking my face into his shoulder, I drink in the delicious scent of his t-shirt, skin, cologne, deodorant, and a day of unshowered scents that slowly built up. It’s utterly intoxicating.
I keep my face there like it’s my own secret, private spot—my old go-to and treasured favorite—like I’ve been drinking in his scent for a lifetime. He carries me up the stairs, down the hall, and to his room without making a sound.
I say nothing, just inhaling deep breaths as my face remains buried in his shirt.
CHAPTER 18
Luke
We silently make it upstairs to my room, and I manage to shut the door. I silently lock it and find the bed in the pitch-black darkness. Feeney hangs onto me like I’m a lifeline, even when I go to set her on the bed. She doesn’t unclasp her hands, but instead, she drags me down on top of her. It’s not graceful, and I hear her soft exhale of surprise in the inky black as I quickly get an elbow into the bed to wriggle away, so I’m not crushing her anymore.
I feel clumsy, useless, and out of practice. My dick is as hard as a goddamn tree in my jeans. It’s been a while.
Feeney doesn’t seem to care. She doesn’t seem to care that I’m awkward, and if she knows I’m suddenly nervous, she doesn’t say anything. She just wriggles below me until her soft breasts are pressing into my chest, and then she wraps her hands around my neck again to tug my face to hers. Her hips arch up as instinct takes over for both of us. At least I remember how to kiss because it’s instinct. Or maybe she makes it easy to kiss her because I’m doing it furiously, so hot and hard that I’m sweating. And also, hot and hard everywhere else too.
Feeney’s hips rock up into my jeans, and her pelvis presses against mine. My knee slips between her legs, which part around me with one curling at my hip. My dick throbs into her stomach, although she can probably feel it, even through layers and layers of clothes.
She rocks against me again, and the clothes make it hotter, not less hot. When we’re like this, pressed together with her body beneath mine, all wild heat and burning passion, I’m very much aware of how much smaller she is than me and the difference in our bodies. She’s not little or delicate, but next to me, she comes off as both of those things.
Her nails dig into my neck and shoulder like she knows what I’m thinking, and she’s reminding me, subtly, that she can’t be broken like this. She squirms eagerly beneath me, also reminding me that she wants me as badly as I want her.
It’s pitch fucking black in here. I need to do something about that. I mean, not because I don’t remember how this is supposed to go or what I’m supposed to put into what, but I just can’t see a damn thing, and I don’t want to ruin this before it even starts by accidentally sticking a finger in Feeney’s eye or something.
I manage to swing my arm around and reach for my phone in my back pocket. I flick the flashlight on and turn it away from us. Feeney blinks into the bright light, but when I set it on the nightstand, facing the other way but still illuminating most of the bed in softer, white light, she doesn’t tell me to turn it off. She stares up at me, her eyes heavy with wonder and concentration battling with wild desire. Her hair is a tangled mess around her face and splayed out on the pillow while the light makes her skin look like porcelain. Her lips are swollen, and I can see the slight red tinge on her chin, right where her skin was rubbed by the stubble on my jawline. I think she might be the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a very long time.