Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I slide my fingers up Ben’s arms, and he deepens the kiss. My skin heats everywhere he touches: my face, my lips, my stomach pressed against his hips as he snakes a hand around my back. I’m hot and so weak, as if his desire has stolen my resolve. His tongue presses against mine, and I can’t help but let out a small moan of relief that I finally get more from him. My nipples pinch against my tank, and I don’t know if he feels them, but he groans. The vibration bounces around in my chest. Did I just make Ben groan?
His palm at my back pushes us closer together, but it’s not close enough. It’s like the pan of hot water is about to break into a boil, it just needs a few. More. Seconds.
His hand rounds my ass, and I’m about to wrap my legs around his waist when a knock at the door interrupts us. We jump apart like we’re teenagers on the verge of being discovered by parents.
He shoots me a look I can’t quite read and stalks over to the door. It’s just the housekeeper with two hot water bottles.
“Not sure we need those,” he mutters and discards them on the bed.
I stand rooted to the spot, vibrating with need for him, willing him to come back to me, hold me, kiss me. I want to feel him everywhere.
Instead he collapses on the sofa, grabbing my hand as he goes down and bringing me with him so we’re back to sitting where we were before our kiss. Except this time we’re hip to hip, and the heat is almost overwhelming.
He doesn’t let go of my hand, and instead begins to circle his thumb over my palm. I try to focus on breathing. I’m not used to navigating a man other than Jed. I feel like a teenager. The last time Jed and I kissed with tongue, without being naked and one of us trying to get to orgasm—because it never happened at the same time—we were probably still in college.
I don’t know where I want this to go next. I really like this guy. But my life is at such a crossroads right now, do I need to complicate it any further?
“You’re overthinking,” he says.
“Always,” I reply.
He huffs out a laugh, and I smile because I know how hard it is to amuse him. “Same here. There are lots of moving parts. For both of us. If logic were to prevail, we wouldn’t . . .”
“Right,” I say, agreeing with him, although logic isn’t prevailing anywhere in my body right now. “You don’t date.”
“And I need to stay focused,” he adds.
“I’m fresh out of a ten-year relationship.”
“I’m paying you to be here,” he says. “I assured you . . . nothing physical was part of the bargain.”
“I know that, Ben. I don’t feel pressured to accept your kisses.”
He turns to look at me, as if seeking out visual confirmation I’m telling the truth.
“I promise,” I say. I tilt my head, and he drops his gaze to my neck as if he’s wondering how it would taste.
But it’s complicated. We both know it.
I also know I want him to kiss me again, and if he wanted to peel off my clothes and lick me from neck to ankle, right at this moment I’m unlikely to say no. At the same time, we’re guests in someone else’s house, he’s trying to focus on achieving something that, for whatever reason, is incredibly important to him, and I just got out of a serious relationship. “There are lots of reasons not to act on—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence, because Ben slides his large hands around my waist and pulls me onto his lap. He cups the back of my head.
“I have this urge to touch you all the time,” he growls out, coiling his fingers around my bare thigh. His skin against mine is so electrifying I’m frightened to move in case I burst into flames. Yes, we’ve held hands and touched in small, intimate ways, but somehow in this room tonight, everything feels different. Bigger.
I turn toward him and place my palms carefully on his chest, slowly, in case he has the urge to stop me or I change my mind.
But he doesn’t. I don’t.
I feel the heat through the white cotton of his top, but it’s not enough. I want to feel his skin. I skim my fingers down, down, down, dipping my fingertips under the hem of his T-shirt to his hard warmth.
“I know. I feel it too.” My voice is fractured and strained, like I’m six thousand feet above sea level and can’t catch my breath.
Finally, he gives me the oxygen I need, pressing a kiss to my mouth. As our lips join, I melt beneath him, like ice against his flames. His touch burns every other kiss I’ve ever had from my memory, and I know from now on, I’ll only remember him. I’ll only want to remember him.