Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” he groans the curse—and to my delight, he’s stiffer than semi-hard now. Because I’m truly not opposed to torturing him, and his very strong imagination can have a field day with the little I just gave him.
“Anyway,” I tell him, closing my eyes. “Good night.”
He groans again before laughing. “Sleep tight, Abbie girl. Because I’m going to kiss you everywhere tomorrow.”
Everywhere. Anticipation fills me again, until I’m like a little girl lying in bed on Christmas Eve and hoping to hear the clippity-clop of reindeer hooves on the roof.
I fall asleep while waiting for Santa to come.
I’m not sure what wakes me. It’s dark, telling me the fire has died down, so at least a few hours have passed, but it’s not yet freezing cold in the way it gets nearer to dawn.
And I’m not spooned anymore. I must have rolled over onto my belly. My leg still touches Reed’s, but that’s it.
Reed’s still asleep, each breath deep and even, his body radiating luscious warmth. I scoot oh-so-slowly closer again, trying not to wake him.
Maybe I don’t try hard enough. Or maybe he senses me moving, because his steely arm hooks around my middle and with a drowsily mumbled “C’mere,” Reed drags me bodily up against his chest, no longer spooning but front-to-front. He nuzzles his face into my hair with a sleep-slurred, “Smell s’good.”
That wakes me up a bit more, though I’m not sure about him. Once he’s got me close, his hold around my waist relaxes and his breaths even out, each exhalation warming my ear and cheek.
Then, although he doesn’t move, his body doesn’t seem as relaxed anymore. As if tension and awareness are seeping into his extremities. His inhalations deepen.
“Reed?” It’s hardly a murmur, so I won’t disturb him if he is still asleep.
“I’m here.” His quiet reply still has a bedtime thickness to it, but not a hint of drowsiness. “Do you need me to move over or let you go?”
“No, I— It’s after midnight.” And in case my meaning isn’t clear, “So…it’s tomorrow.”
When he intended to kiss me. Perhaps he would have, if I’d given him the chance.
But I kiss him first. Well, first I launch myself at him, bowling him over onto his back, then climbing aboard. I straddle his stomach, take his face in my hands—his shaved jaw only slightly rough under my palms—then kiss him. Rather hungrily, in truth.
Thankfully, Reed is hungry, too.
And, oh, it’s such good kissing. Not the rote kissing that always happen when a lip-lock is nothing but the expected first step on a path farther south. Truthfully, I assumed kissing Reed would be like that, too. I only saw the decision to kiss him as a first step toward what was inevitably next, knowing it would never just be a kiss. Even when I jumped him, the purpose of kissing him was mostly to get the engine started.
But now that I’m here, I could do this for hours. Kissing Reed is such a pleasure in itself. Stroking my tongue over his. The soft suction on my lips. The delicious wet slide of our mouths. The massaging grip of one large hand on my ass, the other curled firmly around my nape. Drawing back for air and feeling his smile beneath mine. Angling my head and going in for more.
I go in for more so many times. Then after—I don’t know how long it’s been—I finally come up for air again, resting my forehead against his, my breathing harsh and my whole body feeling hot and shivery.
Honestly, I’m a little blindsided. Again.
Straddling him as I am, I ride the rise and fall of his own quickened breaths. His fingers tighten around my nape, his thumb in the little hollow beneath my ear. I didn’t know how good a thumb feels right there. How strangely comforting and yet possessively demanding, all at once.
Reed gently nips my bottom lip. “I like it when we aren’t enemies.”
“No,” I say, “we still are.”
“Dammit. Still?”
“Oh, don’t grumble. I’m a complicated person. We’ve been enemies all our lives, you think that disappears in a poof? I’ve got twenty years of baggage to unload before I can clear you as a friend.” I grin against his mouth, then go in for a lick across the edge of his teeth. “For tonight, though, I’ll pretend you aren’t my enemy.”
“That’s acceptable.” He squeezes my ass then runs his hand up my back. “So what would you like your not-enemy to do to you?”
So much. But there’s one leeetle problem. Leaning in close, I whisper hotly in his ear, “I want you to tell me that you’ve got condoms in your pack.”
“Oh, fuck.” It’s too dark to make out his expression, but by his tone, I have to imagine a comical portrait of abject uncertainty and horrified dismay. “Fuck. Do I?”