Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
My orgasm shoots through my veins and sends a wave of ecstasy crashing over me as my knees begin to shake. I grip Reaper, holding on to him with everything I have as he continues thrusting into me, rolling his body with such perfect, precise movements.
My eyelids flutter as my orgasm continues to build, and when Reaper comes with me, the softest grunt fills the cramped shower. “You’re so goddamn beautiful when you come,” he tells me in a deep, gravelly tone. “When your sweet little cunt squeezes me like that . . . fuck.”
A lazy smile settles across my lips, and I lean back into him, my energy quickly dwindling as I come down from my high. He releases my thigh before locking his arm around my waist once again, holding me up and shifting the shower head away from my over-sensitive clit.
He adjusts the setting back to the normal flow before fixing it back into its position above our heads, then he turns me in his arms and simply holds me. “I thought I was going to die,” I tell him.
“Not on my watch, Siren,” he rumbles. “I still have fifteen days to devour you, and I’m not about to let either of us lose a single one of those seconds.”
I shift my stance before lifting my chin and meeting his heavy stare. “Why?” I whisper. “Why does it matter to you so much?”
He shakes his head, his dark gaze mirroring the unease that I feel deep in my chest, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s having the same realization that I am—that there’s something more here, something profound between us. “I wish I knew.”
His words sit with me, and after letting out a breath, I reach behind me and shut off the water. Reaper wraps a towel around me, patting me down to avoid rubbing my wet, aching skin. Then, as I finish drying off, Reaper peels off his wet clothes, and I grab one of his clean shirts.
He helps me pull it over my head, and I can’t help but notice the way it smells just like him. Then as he starts to dress himself, pulling a shirt over that incredible grim reaper tattoo and hiding it away, I find myself wandering out of the main bedroom and searching for the girl who saved my life.
My heart races, unsure what to say to Shadow or how to even be around her. The last time I checked, she wasn’t sure about me, always inching away and watching me as though she wasn’t sure if she could trust me, but surely things are different now.
Making my way down the hall, I let my fingers drag along the drywall, the exhaustion still gripping me in a chokehold. There’s no telling when the last of my energy will fade away and leave me scrambling on the ground.
I pass two bedrooms, finding them both empty, before setting my sights on the final one at the opposite end of the hallway. It makes sense for Shadow to want to put as much distance between her and us as possible, and if I were smart, I should be putting distance between us too. Yet no matter how hard I try, I keep finding my way back to him. Either that or he’s the one finding his way to me. Honestly, I don’t really know anymore. But what I do know is not being the object of his desires is somewhere I never want to find myself.
Creeping toward the final bedroom, I approach the closed door and gently rap my knuckles against the hardwood. I don’t announce myself or wait for her to welcome me in. If she’s as good as I suspect her to be, she would have heard my footsteps down the hall and known they were too light to be Reaper’s. Then when I didn’t stop and turn toward the kitchen and living room, she would have known exactly where I was going.
Taking the handle, I slowly open the door, taking my time so as not to startle her. I don’t want her to fear me, and despite her knowing that I’m already here, barging in like a raging bull isn’t going to give her confidence that she can trust me.
Peeking my head inside the room, I find Shadow standing beside the bed. It’s made perfectly, not a single bump in the blankets, and I can’t help but wonder if this is normal practice for her. Has she been standing there beside it all night, or did she allow herself a few hours of vulnerability to sleep before making the bed to military perfection the moment she woke? And in which case, why hasn’t she moved since then?
“May I come in?” I murmur, meeting her bright blue stare.
She shrugs her shoulders. “I suppose.”