Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
“I was,” Delaney said.
“Mmm?”
“Did,” she corrected.
A second of silence followed Delaney’s admittance that she had, in fact, slept with Lucas before Gracen’s squeal broke the damn sound barrier. All Delaney could do to keep from spilling the flood of very personal details racing through her mind was bite down on the inside of her grinning cheek.
“Do I get any details?” Gracen asked.
The two shared a lot together over the years.
Some things didn’t need to be said, though.
“Ugh, you know how I am about sex.”
Gracen laughed Delaney’s excuse off.
Delaney preferred to tuck those memories of her first, only-a-little-fumbling time with Lucas locked away like a private letter she could revisit with her mind. Still fresh enough that she could enjoy the way his fingers had pinched so good grabbing her ass as they fucked, half-dressed downstairs using a stool for her knees and the kitchen island.
Her nipples still hardened at the way the cold countertop pressed against her skin in her haste to not even get her sweater off entirely before he shoved her down and filled her up. Like teenagers with shaking hands and not enough time lest they be caught, it was fumbling and fast and entirely fucking perfect.
She’d just wanted to feel him, to finally know he’d be as good as she thought stretching her open and fucking her hard from behind.
And it was.
He was.
Darkness fell early over New Brunswick in the winter. The dinner table barely got cleared from supper dishes, and it would already be dark. That same blanket of dark coldness carried the province through to the morning hours. A worker on a twelve-hour shift could miss the sun entirely in a single workday.
She’d still had a few spoonfuls of the beef-tomato soup left in her bowl, when he leaned across the island to take a kiss from her lips that started it all demanding politely that she pull down her pants for him. He’d let her taste the way her arousal turned tart after she orgasmed when he dropped a kiss to her trembling lips after spreading her wide on the stool and finding his dessert between her thighs, too.
The man had a mouth on him that he clearly liked to use, but it had been his tongue to start the unraveling of Delaney.
Delaney had never experienced being simultaneously turned on and almost ashamed—and truly liking it—at the vivid, explicit way Lucas could describe the way she tasted and smelled; or how he loved it and the things he wanted to do to her.
“You’re honey in the summertime,” he’d panted into a passionate kiss, and smeared wet with her around his lips. She hadn’t been able to get his pants shoved down fast enough, but she’d tried while he kept her locked under him. “A sin you learn to love.”
He couldn’t have known how right he was in saying that to her. Even the shame of tasting herself on his mouth after she had come turned her on. Years of being taught to be ashamed and afraid of what made her body feel good had turned Delaney into a secretive teenager who had hid all of her healthy, or otherwise, sexual exploration. The battle of her shame and pleasure became one she had always been careful not to play into lest it leave her more scarred than it already had.
Lucas Dalton, a gentleman for every moment she had shared up until she spread her legs wide for him, tempted her closer to the truth where both shame and pleasure lived. Safely.
She’d never trusted someone to let her revel in both without judgement until those moments with him. It had emboldened her to say as much, too.
“I want to be fucked like your slut.”
“Just not called it,” he’d returned, making a heat flush from her head to her toes when he’d added, “Yet.”
Oh, God.
He’d been so, so right.
Their first time had been a rushed few minutes where he gave her exactly what she’d asked for. Sore thighs and knees included. But he had made her stay still and let him touch and adore every inch of her that he wanted after he’d carried her upstairs. There, he kept her warm under the quilt with him for what she thought were hours, only leaving the bed to give her a break occasionally.
Usually, to steep another tea with a drop of rum from the mini bottles of Bacardi he’d picked up at the store as a surprise.
Never one to stop herself from pointing out Delaney’s awkward stretches of silence when she got pulled into her own head, Gracen cleared her throat as if to announce she was going to ask a question. “I guess, I’m still trying to figure out why you called me?”
“Probably, huh? I swear I’m not crazy.”
Gracen laughed. “You never were—your late-night phones calls are, by far, some of our best ever conversations.”