Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Not that I want her to be…
I want all of it—the way she melts into me, how her lips part like she’s tasting something sweeter than steam and water and heat. The way her body arches into my hands like we were made for this, for here, like she’s not afraid to let me feel how badly she wants me back.
My breath stutters as her mouth trails along my jaw, her voice a whisper against my skin. “You’re shaking.”
“No I’m not.”
She pulls back just far enough to look me in the eye, her smile pure trouble. “You are.”
Maybe I am. It’s possible. Because I’ve never wanted someone like this.
Fuck.
Is this love?
No.
There’s no fucking way—I’ve known her less than two weeks.
People do not fall in love that soon.
I rest my forehead against hers, trying to steady the thrum of anticipation that’s clawing through me. “Poppy…”
She blinks up at me, still breathless, still close. “Yeah?”
Ugh.
Shit.
“Nothing.”
Then I kiss her again, because I don’t know what else to do with myself. I press her back against the tile and drop to my knees. Spread her thighs with my hands, holding them apart.
Go straight for her pussy.
Sucking hard, worshipping her.
I lose myself in her.
Not just in the shape of her body or the heat of her skin—but in the way she responds to me. The way she whispers my name. The way her knees shake and her breath stutters, her voice getting caught somewhere in her chest before spilling out in broken syllables.
So fucking good…
poppy
. . .
Istare at Turner, who’s about to pull a T-shirt over his head.
“Are you actually getting dressed?”
“We said we were going to behave,” he whispers gruffly, the hem halfway over his abs.
I laugh. “Who said that? Not me.”
He takes one step closer to the bed, shirt dangling from his fingers. “You’re going to get us caught.”
“How?” I whisper back. “I can be quiet.” I lock my lips and throw away the key. “See?”
“You can be quiet,” he allows. “But I’ve also heard the volume of your moaning.”
Ahh—the moaning.
The yummy, delicious moaning.
If his dick wasn’t so stellar, the sounds would be less of an issue.
I raise my eyebrows, challenging. “Fine. Wanna make it interesting?”
I love a good challenge.
Turner eyes me warily. “Define interesting.”
“The Silent Game.” I explain my impromptu, totally made-up game. “No noise. No moaning. No talking. First one to make a sound, loses a point. First one to have Georgia knock on the door loses.”
He stares at me like I just proposed competitive arson. “You want to play a game, while we’re naked in bed,” he deadpans.
I nod, smug. “Yesss.”
“You’re going to lose.” He tosses the shirt to the floor and climbs onto the bed in one fluid, predatory motion. “Ground rules?”
“Rule one: no speaking. Not even whispering dirty shit in my ear, which, I’ll admit, is your superpower.”
He is so good at talking dirty, I’m getting wet just thinking about it…
I sit up straighter, businesslike. “Rule two: no random sounds on purpose. No moaning, no sighing, no gasping, no tiny little breathy ‘oh’s’ that you do when I—well, you know.”
He blinks. “I’ve never fucking did anything with a breathy little ‘oh’—that’s you.” He laughs. “You sound like a virgin in a romance who’s shocked to see an ankle for the first time.”
My mouth gapes. “Was that an insult?”
Turner laughs. “No, I’m stating facts.”
“What about accidental sounds? Like sneezes? Or, I don’t know, a noise of surprise if someone were to—hypothetically—bite someone’s inner thigh?”
He narrows his eyes. “Suffer in silence like the rest of us. Rule three: if Georgia knocks on the door, the instigator loses. Immediately. No trial, no appeal.”
I gasp. “That’s not fair! What if she knocks just to be annoying?”
Because that’s what little sisters do—even if she’s not mine.
“She won’t,” he says with all the delusion of a man who knows nothing about women. “She’s probably asleep.”
Turner’s shrug says ‘not my problem.’ “We’ve already laid the groundwork. Three rules. Zero mercy. High risk. High reward.”
“And nudity,” I add. “Essential to the integrity of the game.”
“Obviously.”
We shake on it, completely serious despite the fact that we are both 100% naked and not pretending to be professional about it.
He lifts the covers, and we both slide into bed like this is some sort of gentleman’s duel instead of what it actually is: a very sexy mistake wearing the disguise of a competition.
Turner lies flat on his back, arms behind his head, smug as hell as my eyes slide down his torso.
Yum.
“Just so you know,” he brags, “I’ve never lost a game.”
He is so full of shit. Of course he’s lost games.
I roll to my side, facing him. “That’s because you’ve never played against someone with no shame and a very flexible sense of sportsmanship.”
“I don’t trust that sentence at all.”
“You shouldn’t.”
The room goes quiet.
GAME. ON.
I shift under the sheets, subtly letting my leg brush against his.