Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“What about them?” The words are pressed into the space just below my ear. “Fuck the flowers.”
I laugh again, dizzy with the endorphins flooding my brain.
He hums against my lips as we head toward a set of stairs. The vibrations carry through my body and pool in my core.
I lean my head back, exposing more of my neck. It’s not intentional, but I’m not mad about it because Cole uses the opportunity to plant kisses across my jaw.
The scent of his body, sweet and warm, invades my senses. The pressure of his lips and fingers against my skin is almost too much to bear. The anticipation of what’s next, what’s to come, has me ready to crawl out of my skin.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask. “And why is it taking so long to get there?”
He chuckles, kicking a door open.
The room we enter is flooded with light. Before I can get my bearings, he tosses me onto a bed. The mattress recoils with my weight.
Cole stands next to the bed and smiles. “Was that fast enough?”
“No. I said I needed you, like, three minutes ago.” I smile back at him. “You’re giving me time to back out.”
His grin wobbles. “If there’s any chance of you backing out, we shouldn’t do it to start with.”
My shoulder blades dig into the mattress as I stare back up at him. How is this man even real?
I get on my knees and hold his gaze. Then, with courage that I didn’t know I possess, I lift the hem of my shirt over my head.
The cool air wraps around my bare skin and through the lace of my bra. It’s quite the juxtaposition to the heat building inside me. The contrast makes me light-headed but not unsure. So, under the weight of Cole’s unbelieving watch, I undo the button of my jeans.
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He doesn’t move.
I hold his gaze and undo my zipper, then slip out of the denim and discard it onto the end of the bed.
My curves are on full display. My cellulite and the cesarean scar across my belly from having Ethan are visible. The stretch marks across the top of my breasts and at my hips are there for him to see.
Typically, those elements that I consider flaws make me nervous, and I hide them if at all possible. But not today.
Cole’s lips twitch as he takes his fill of me visually. “Damn, Palmer.”
“This is me.” I hold my arms out to the side. “If there’s any chance of you backing out, we shouldn’t do it to start with.”
He grins at my words, the same ones he just gave me. “Backing out isn’t an option for me, sweetheart. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.”
His fingers find the edge of his shirt, and he rips it from his body.
My eyes nearly pop out of my head.
Cole must’ve been molded by an artist because his body is nothing short of a work of art. The lines in his abdomen are thick and deeply cut—practically carved out of the muscle in his torso. His shoulders raise from his body in heavy peaks that make me whimper. And his sides? Kill me now. They form an inverted triangle and narrow to his trim waist, which looks as powerful as it does lean.
I haven’t fully absorbed the glory of his body when he removes his pants and boxer briefs.
I gulp.
His cock is rock hard. A bead of precum glistens at the head, and while I’ve never thought a penis was attractive, I’m into this one. Or, rather, hope this one is in me. Soon.
“I’ve never felt so ogled,” he says, laughing.
“You know, the baseball people aren’t doing a great marketing job.”
“Why is that?”
The sun shines in the window, highlighting him as if it agrees with me.
“Because if they want to up their viewership, all they have to do is show some of that.” I point at his naked body. “I’d tune in, and, being honest—I hate baseball.”
He moves toward me. His hands hit the bed, and he crawls toward me. I scramble backward and lie on my back as he gets closer.
“How can you tell me you hate baseball?” he asks, positioning himself between my legs and hovering over me.
My body is on fire. Blood pours to my groin. My clit pulses, begging for stimulation to end the throb that’s nearly painful.
His breath is hot against my skin. The skin-on-skin contact of our lower bodies frazzles my brain, and I can’t think of anything but him and how if I moved the right way, I could probably find some relief.
“I don’t know what you were saying,” I say, almost panting.
He snickers. “You hate baseball.”
“Yes,” I say, shifting my hips in a desperate attempt for contact. “I also hate talking.”