Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
His hands move down my back until he grips my ass with his big hands. “Norah.” My name is a grave rasp on his tongue. “My Norah. I need you so fucking bad.”
“Bennett, I—” A sob strangles my voice, vibrating my chest against his, as he slams his mouth down on mine again.
I don’t care that he still has alcohol in his system. I don’t care if this is a bad idea. I don’t even care what happens after this moment. All I know is that I need him just as bad. I kiss him back with everything I have.
I don’t even realize he’s moved us until my back is hitting the sofa in the corner of his studio.
I respond by reaching my hands out to rip his T-shirt off his body. He follows suit by removing my sleep shorts and panties and freeing his cock from his jeans.
He pushes himself inside me on a grunt, and my eyes fall closed when he fills me completely.
My breathing is ragged and tears stream down my cheeks and my hands claw at the bare skin of his back, silently begging him for more.
Our mouths taste and lick and breathe each other in, while our hands don’t stop touching skin. It’s as if we’re trying to crawl inside each other, unable to get close enough without morphing into one. All the while, he keeps thrusting himself inside me with heavy, rough strokes of his cock.
When he presses his forehead against mine and our gazes lock, his tears drip from his face and mix with my own on my skin once again.
“You deserve me,” I whisper into his ear, but he shakes his head and thrusts himself deeper inside me.
“No, Norah. Don’t fucking say it.”
I grip his chin and try to force his eyes to mine, but he refuses and buries his face into my neck. A guttural sob vibrates from his lungs, and the heavy strokes of his cock inside me become harder and deeper and faster.
This moment is nothing like the first time we made love. It’s raw and animalistic, and despair hovers over us like a dark cloud.
This is fucking, pure and simple.
I should probably hate myself for being the catalyst for getting us to this point. I should be pissed at myself for coming here tonight when I knew what kind of state he was in. But I can’t bring myself to do anything but savor every second of this moment I shouldn’t have stolen.
And the reality of what I’d do for him is clear—anything.
I’d do anything for this man.
I love you, my heart cries.
I want to take away his pain.
I want to tell him that he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
I want to tell him that I’d never ask him to choose his daughter over me and that I’m not mad he asked me to bring that letter to the police station that day.
I want to tell him a million things, but I know he’s not ready for that. I can see it in his eyes and feel it in the desperate way he moves.
I don’t stop kissing him when he pushes us both over the edge and comes deep inside me. And I don’t stop kissing him when he lies down on the couch and pulls my body over his.
I only stop kissing him when his eyes fall closed and his breaths grow slower with sleep, then I dress myself and steal away into the night just as I came.
Without invitation, without answers, without any sense of closure.
I love Bennett Bishop. But he’s still not ready to love me.
43
Bennett
My head throbs and my hands shake as I wake up sharply, sitting up on the sofa in my studio. I don’t know when I came in here last night or why, but the stack of paintings piled in the center of the space and the box of spilled matches beside it give me a sense that I had some big plans for an actual bonfire.
Thank God I didn’t follow through.
Every muscle inside my body hurts as I get up, head out of the studio, and back into the house. But when I step inside, I’m overwhelmed by the silence. The morning birds chirp outside my window, but other than them, the world is painfully, soundlessly bleak.
There’s no noise from my sister in the kitchen, no giggles from Summer as she talks to Charlie in her room, and no soft sighs from a woman in my bed.
I’m alone for another day.
I sink my head into my hands and beg for a sign. A direction to go, a solution to carry out, a vision to follow. Practically, I know I can’t have Summer back, but every other part of me is hoping for some kind of miracle.
Something that makes me feel like I can breathe again. Something to let me know that Summer is all right.