Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
And I can’t. Because then this will all fall apart—this sweet contentment, these nights on the couch, the utter perfection of every hour I spend with him.
So I say nothing.
By the time the movie’s over, my entire body feels like an exposed nerve, tense and quivering. I mumble a goodnight and haul ass upstairs. In my bedroom, I tear out of my jeans and slap off the light before hurtling into bed.
After Alicia got her superhearing, it took one awkward day with her barely looking in my direction for me to pack away my vibrator and start using my fingers again. I haven’t gone back to battery-operated with Brandon around—and since he’s moved in, my hand has gotten a daily workout.
As primed as I already am, I don’t waste any time working myself up. Instead I let my imagination jump straight to the good part of a fantasy that I’ve indulged in more than once.
With him kneeling in front of the couch—oh god yes, this one is so good—with my shirt up around my neck and my underwear in shreds. He’s holding my legs open wide, my knees hooked over his elbows, his big body hunched over mine. His thick cock is already inside me, filling my cunt and grinding deep while his thumb strokes my clit, his mouth sucking hard on my tit. He’s growling and grunting as he drives into me, rough now, so rough, making me take every rigid inch over and over again. All I can do is pant his name as he fucks me, as the delicious tight ache inside me sharpens to an unbearable—
“Samantha.”
Brandon’s voice, from just outside my bedroom door. I freeze with my right hand on my clit and my left pinching my nipple. Eyes wide, I stare at the bedside clock as it blips over to 2:13am. Did I really just hear him?
I did.
“You said my name.” The rumble of his voice is low but unmistakeable. “Is it an invitation?”
Oh god. I close my eyes in mortification. Usually I’m so quiet when I do this. His name couldn’t have been more than a whisper escaping me. Yet he still heard.
But it wasn’t an invitation. I force a breath into my frozen lungs to tell him so.
Then can’t speak at all when he growls out, “Just know that if your pussy tastes even half as good as it smells, I’m gonna be feasting on your cunt like it’s an endless honeypot for the rest of the night.”
My thighs clamp around my hand, squeezing hard, trying to hold in the need pulsing through my flesh. My teeth dig into my bottom lip to stop my moan.
“But that’s not all, Sam.” His voice deepens, taking on a hoarse edge. “I don’t care how difficult you are. You’re worth every effort—and I would prove it to you tonight and every night and day to come. I will love the fuck out of you, if you let me. So was it an invitation?”
My response locks painfully in my throat. I want him to come in. I want him to love the fuck out of me. So desperately. But when it goes bad, I’ll lose him. Because I know how this ends.
It’ll be great for a short time. Then he realize I’m too much work, too unwilling to rearrange my opinions and my life to suit his, too likely to call him out for shit that needs calling out. Every time. Every man.
Always the same end.
And this time, with Brandon, it all matters so much more. I don’t think I could have ever fallen in love with any of those men, anyway. But there’s no question of whether I can fall for Brandon. The only question is how far along I already am. Because he has been so different from the start—
Everything within me seems to come to a halt. My brain, my heart, my breath.
Because I keep thinking it’ll be the same. That I’ve got a long history of men who’ve never stayed. But they were all men. And Brandon himself told me.
I’m difficult. But he’s a bear.
“Yes.”
It’s barely a breath of sound from a throat knotted with anxiety and hope. Yet he heard his name before, which couldn’t have been much louder. So he’ll hear my answer now.
The clock ticks to 2:14.
I come up on my elbows, looking at the door. Expecting him to come through. Saying again softly, “Yes.”
Nothing.
Heart pounding, I slide out of bed. Is he waiting for me to come to him? That doesn’t seem right. But neither does this silence.
I turn the handle, expecting him to be in the hall, his huge body filling up my doorway.
Empty.
What the fuck?
A little worried now—worried for him—I make my way down to his room. The bed’s still made, his phone atop his dresser, nothing out of place. For an instant, I’d wondered if Ranger had somehow called and asked for help in that split second, but no. Unless Brandon heard something from outside?