Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
So bossy.
“Look at us,” I murmur as I shuck my pants, my voice a low, husky whisper. “Seems like we’ve uncovered secrets about each other. Now I’m seeing you in the light when before we were in the dark.”
I use the word secrets to gauge her reaction, knowing full well I’m going to drop a bombshell on her later—but once I’ve thoroughly dicked her down and made her come. The dicking comes first.
“Secrets.” She laughs, a sultry sound that hangs in the air like the sweetest melody. “Secrets are meant to be shared, don’t you think?”
Her fingers trace another lazy pattern down my chest, causing my cock to twitch.
“Absolutely. But some secrets are best served later.”
I cringe at the cryptic words.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her eyes have fire in them, lips pouty from being kissed so much.
“You’ll find out.”
My dick could not be any harder.
She’s right; this foreplay nonsense is taking way too long.
I reach between our bodies, fingers finding her clit—so wet—already hot for me as the room closes in around us, the atmosphere getting heavier and heavier with the unspoken tension.
“More” her eyes say. Stop hesitating.
“You’re playing with fire, do you realize that?” I whisper, lips brushing against her earlobe, dick desperate to explode.
Her breath hitches when my body moves over hers, and I position myself between her legs. Lower my hips and let my dick drag between her thighs.
Fuck.
Yes.
“Aren’t you curious about getting burned?” she whispers back.
I burst out laughing, chest rumbling, arms trembling, wanting to be inside this woman who lies beneath me. I want her to know my secrets—all of them—and my past.
“That was the cheesiest thing I’ve heard anyone say.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. It felt appropriate since you mentioned fire.” She is not even a bit bashful.
“Maybe danger is what we need.” I add some gravel to my voice and lace it with a mixture of boldness and restraint. Sort of like a pirate?
Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. “Oh my God. Stop it with that voice. Please.” She laughs too. “If we start this goofy shit, it’s going to kill the mood—I want to get laid so bad I can taste it.”
The heat between her legs grows as I reach the apex, fingers teasing at the edge of forbidden territory.
Yum.
I remember how good she tasted the last time my head was there, licking and sucking her.
Harlow’s breath catches, and I lean in, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss because kissing and football and fucking are three of my favorite things, not necessarily in that order.
Life is good.
Life is damn good.
“Condom,” she reminds me gently, and I hesitate, this time coming more prepared with a whole half a dozen.
I wrestle one out of my wallet. Tear it open, then expertly slide it on.
With a deliberate slowness, I guide myself inside her, the heat of the moment a palpable force, almost as good as the heat of her pussy.
Our eyes lock.
Her lips part.
All I see when I look at her is my hunger mirrored in hers, a shared longing that transcends words, if those words are Fuck yes . . .
I moan, all the way inside her.
I pull out.
Push in.
I don’t want to hurt her, but she’s already so fucking wet and we’ve barely touched each other. It’s the most difficult damn thing I’ve had to do this week—not pounding in to the hilt and burying myself.
Every movement, every touch, is a testament to the intimacy that unfolded between us, a fusion of two souls becoming one in the most primal of dances. I’m a fucking poet now. Is this the new version of me? A dude who thinks about how happy he is while he’s in the middle of banging someone?
I thrust.
Thrust again.
Thrust and grind, listening to her breathy sighs and moans and her voice whispering my name; feel her hands on my back, nails raking up and down my spine.
“Oh God, Andy . . . you’re so hard,” she utters, spurring me on. “I love it . . . yes, there . . . keep going . . .”
I am so fucking hard.
I feel like a goddamn superhero.
“Push harder,” she demands, both hands on my ass, thumbs digging into my hip plates. “Harder, Andy . . . f-fuck that feels good.”
Hell yes, it does.
“Oh shit . . .” Her moan is loud. If we were in her hotel room, the neighbors next door would hear it through the walls. “Feels s-so good . . .”
So good.
So goddamn right.
Chapter 22
Harlow
I watch as Andy moves gracefully around my kitchen, his hulking figure like a bull in an antique shop, but oddly? He also looks like he belongs here.
It’s surreal having him inside my house, after he materialized on my front porch as if I’d manifested him myself.
“Do you mind if I look for something to eat?” He’s already grabbing the handle of the refrigerator, and I nod, turning to take a mug out of the upper cabinet so I can heat some water and make myself a cup of tea.