Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Only when my thighs began to tighten again did he pick up the pace, watching me with an intensity that pushed me higher, faster.
“Nixon.” I clutched at his shoulders as I felt that familiar spiral of pleasure coming undone.
“I love how you say my name.” He swung his hips faster, harder.
I love you. I barely managed to keep the words behind my teeth as he reached between us and pushed me over the edge with his fingers.
I flew, chanting his name as the orgasm pulsed through me in waves of color, but nothing compared to the look in his eyes as he watched me.
“Zoe,” he whispered as he let go, chasing his own release with wild abandon, following me over before I’d completely come down.
He collapsed, and I held him, savoring his weight, his gasping breaths against my neck, the shudders that wracked us both as we struggled to recover.
Within a few breaths, he rolled us to the side, locking his thigh over mine and cradling the back of my head as our breathing slowed and heart rates lowered.
“I think I might be dead,” he said a few moments later, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“Really?” I leaned back enough to lift my eyebrows at him. “Shame. I remember you saying something about a shower.”
His grin was completely and utterly wicked. He carried me to the shower, and we started all over again. Who needed sleep?
14
NIXON
I slept. Holy shit, I slept.
The sun streamed through my bedroom window as my eyes opened, and a quick glance at my phone confirmed it. I’d slept through the whole night.
No nightmares.
No insomnia.
Just Zoe.
Zoe, who was still asleep in my arms, her back tucked up against me, and the sweet little curve of her ass pressed up against my dick, who agreed this was the best way to wake up.
Not now, I told the unruly bastard. I’d been inside her three times last night, and she needed a hot minute to recover. I’d never been with a woman I wanted more the morning after than the night before, but here I was, fighting off the craving to take her again.
The sun shimmered through her hair, dancing over every shade of red like a living flame as I slid my hand from beneath the silken strands. So soft. Everything about her was so damned soft.
She was my opposite in every way. It went far past comparing the contrast of my inked hands on her flawless skin, or even the supple curves of her body to the hard planes of mine. Her heart and her mind were wide open, where mine were locked away for the safety of the general public. Her past was all picket fences, where mine was barbed wire. Her family was a step away from a sitcom, where mine wasn’t even suitable for HBO. She was diligent and goal-oriented, where my work ethic ebbed and flowed with the tide of my moods. She was as constant as the North Star, and I was fickle on my best days. She was my better in every single way.
The only place we matched was in the bedroom—or the shower, to be fair. Hopefully, I’d get to test that theory later in the kitchen, the dining room…the list of places I wanted her was endless. Here, we were more than just compatible. I’d never lost myself in someone the way I had with Zoe last night. Never cared more about someone else’s pleasure than my own. Never spent the night sober, that was for sure.
And yet, while that same fire of need was churning through me, demanding I wake her up with another orgasm or two, my heart was at peace just holding her.
At peace.
There was nothing more I wanted in this moment than the soothing fire of this woman.
The sweet feeling of contentment swelled in my chest and melody came alive in my head, a yearning that transformed into gratitude. I pressed a light kiss to her bare shoulder, then slid out of bed as quietly as possible, grabbing my pants off the floor so I wouldn’t wake her with the sound of the dresser drawers shutting.
Then I took my acoustic to the sunroom and settled into the song.
Apparently, I’d found my muse.
* * *
“What did you think?” I asked Jonas two weeks later, once I’d worked up the guts to email him the rough cut of “Merciful Fire.”
“It’s good. Really good. Your hat is right there, honey—” I heard shuffling in the background as he helped his daughter.
“Go sled. This can wait.” I was good with any reason that delayed this conversation, which was a first. Usually, I shared my music with zero reservations, but this one was different.
“No, I’m here. We’re still waiting for Kira. Plus, I’m slightly afraid that if I hang up, it will be weeks until I hear from you again,” he added with no small note of censure.