Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
We break apart after a minute, and she’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. I’m pretty sure I look the same.
“Holy shit,” she says, voice a little shaky. “Wow—”
I touch my forehead to hers. “You can say that again.”
She smiles, and it’s soft and shy and so different from the Deputy Merrill I met on the side of the road that I barely recognize her. But it feels right. More than right.
She finally remembers her keys, unlocks the door, and pushes it open. Then, without looking back, she grabs my hand and pulls me inside.
And I go, willingly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ISLA
I yank Dawson through my apartment door so hard I nearly pop his shoulder out of the socket. Oreo’s perched on the bookshelf, tail lashing, green eyes locked on Dawson like he’s prey. Alfred, my ancient Shih Tzu, gives a half-hearted tail wiggle from his donut bed.
I realize I’m just standing there, staring, hand in his. Dawson glances down at our linked fingers, then up at me with a cocked brow and a smile that should be banned in twenty-three states.
“I don’t want to rush things and screw this up,” he tells me, voice low, soft, even as his hungry eyes roam over me.
“I think you’re overestimating how fast this is,” I say, and he looks honestly thrown. “Technically, we’ve had, what, ten dates? You stalked me at that coffee shop for two entire weeks. By my math, we’re moving slow.”
He blinks, those eyelashes of his flickering like he’s debating whether to argue or just fuck me senseless right here, right now. But then he laughs. That deep, rumbling laugh that vibrates straight through my core, making my thighs clench like a vice. “I love the way you do math,” he says, his voice dripping with something hotter than molten lava.
And then, oh shit, he grins. That gorgeous panty-melting grin. It’s the kind of grin that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and he’s reveling in every second of it. He drops my hand, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s gonna pull away. But no, no, no. Instead, he moves in closer. He’s so freaking close I can feel the heat radiating off his body like a furnace. His chest brushes against mine, and I swear I can feel every ridge of muscle through the thin fabric of his shirt.
His lips brush mine, soft at first, tentative, like he’s giving me an escape hatch before we both combust into a pile of sweat and ecstasy. But I’m not taking the out. Hell no. Instead, I grab two fists of his shirt, my fingers curling into the fabric like I’m about to rip it clean off him. I yank him down, and our lips crash together in a kiss so fucking filthy it should come with a warning label.
His tongue is already there, sliding against mine like it’s claiming ownership. I moan into his mouth, and he growls in response, the sound so primal it sends a jolt straight to my already throbbing core. His hands tangle in my hair then move down to grip my hips before sliding down to grab my ass like it’s his personal property. And honestly? I’m here for it.
I rock against him, grinding my pelvis into his, and I can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against me like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole damn life. His hips jerk forward, and I gasp, breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper his name.
“Fuck, gorgeous,” he growls, his voice rough and ragged like he’s barely holding on. “I’ve wanted you since the second I saw you.”
And then he’s kissing me again, deeper this time, hungrier. His hands slide under my sweater, and his fingers trace the curve of my waist, then move up to brush the underside of my breasts. I arch into his touch, my nipples hardening against the rough fabric of my bra. He notices and his thumb brushes over one peaked nipple, making me whimper like an animal.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs against my lips, his breath hot and ragged. “I could spend hours just touching you.”
“Don’t tease me,” I pant, pulling at his shirt until it’s halfway up his chest, revealing that taut, sculpted torso I’ve been fantasizing about since day one. My hands roam over his skin, feeling every ridge, every dip, every fucking inch of him.
He chuckles darkly, grinding into me again, and I swear I can feel the outline of his cock through his jeans. “Teasing you? Baby, I’m just getting started.”
And then he’s sliding a hand under my skirt and between my thighs. His fingers press against the wet heat waiting for him there. I gasp, my hips bucking into his touch, and he groans, his forehead pressing against mine. “Fuck, I need you,” he mutters, sounding half-drunk on the scent of me.