Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I’m not offended. Mostly because he’s right.
I know I’m a lot. But I’m also not willing to shrink myself for anyone. I’ve dated guys who didn’t understand my obsession with hockey and would get mad when all I wanted to do for seven months of the year was discuss the games. I’ve dated guys who hated my sleep late, stay up later routine because it didn’t work with their nine-to-five schedules when I couldn’t do a standard seven o’clock dinner date. I’ve even dated a guy who asked if I was going to keep our house a mess the way I do my apartment. That guy looked completely confused when I replied that if he was worried about the mess, he could pick it up himself because it doesn’t bother me in the slightest and I wouldn’t be “keeping our house” any sort of way because we weren’t going to have one.
So, Dalton saying I’m difficult isn’t surprising. But when he says it, it’s with a smile that indicates he doesn’t mind and is up for the challenge . . . of me.
To that end, I might as well ask the one question I want an answer to. “Why’d you want to do a video chat and not meet up tonight?”
His smirk falls by degrees and he scrubs his hand over his jaw, which is scruffy with a short beard for this weekend’s games.
“Truth or I’m hanging up and taking care of myself on my own,” I warn, letting my fingertip trace a line down my sternum and circling around my nipple so he sees how hard it is. Not that I think he missed it when his eyes were drinking me in, but a little extra push couldn’t hurt.
He growls as he brings the phone closer to his face, not so I can see him but so he can see me and what my hand is doing better. “Because if I was there, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. I’d fill that sweet pussy with my cock, fuck you hard into your mattress, make you come over and over until you’re a boneless mess. And only then would I come, making sure I stayed buried deep inside you so my cum wouldn’t leak out but would instead stay there all night long.”
“Holy fuck, why aren’t you here? That, let’s do that!” I answer vacantly as my mind paints the pictures he’s drawing with his dirty words. I lift my breast from my cami, plucking at my nipple.
“Because I don’t want you to think that me fucking you has anything to do with a superstition. It won’t. Not at all. It’ll be because we both want it. Want each other.” He lets that sink in for a heartbeat and then, with a gravel-rough voice, says, “I want you, Joy. Do you want me?”
It’d be easy to say yes. Hell, it’s the truth. But also . . . he’s not talking about desiring me. He means he wants me. For more than sex. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
“You’re terrifying,” I confess, not answering his question.
He nods, accepting my nonanswer like he understands exactly what I mean. “I’m also patient. And bossy, so show me both of those tits. Take your shirt off.”
He’s moving us back to safer territory, knowing I need it. Need him, but I’m too chickenshit to commit to more than something physical. Maybe this is what he meant by a certain degree of difficulty more so than my weird schedule, hockey obsession, or messy nature. I’m not scared of anything, except letting him in.
He’s good at reading defenses and creating them as a goalie, but I think he’s blasting his way through my defenses . . . as a man. And getting right into the tiny cracks and crevices I never fixed correctly. I threw a barbed wire fence around that damage, and that’s been enough to keep everyone else out. But not Dalton Days. For all the fight I have against him, that fence might as well be a four-foot chain-link defense that he can hop right over to poke and prod around wherever he wants.
I swallow thickly. He might be on the other side of the screen still, but tonight is something different for us. It’s more. It’s deeper. It’s . . . real.
“Tell me what it’d be like for you to fuck me,” I say, pulling off my cami. “Talk me through it.”
“I’d kiss you, using your hair to pull your head where I wanted so I could taste your lips, your neck, your skin. I’d suck at your neck, but not leave a mark there because it’d make you nervous on-screen.”
I trail my finger along my neck, smiling that he knows me that way.
“I’d hold your tits in my hands, squeezing and kneading them hard because you don’t like just a gentle touch there when you’re turned on. I’d pinch your nipples until they’re red for me. Do it, Joy. Pinch them hard. You can take it. You like it.”