Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Turning, I head through the living room and feel his hands before I make it to the kitchen. He spins me around and backs me into the wall.
I barely react, simply lifting my chin. I kind of expected it. He’s exactly like the stories I heard about my brothers when they were pursuing women. He’s exactly like them.
But as I stare up at him, chest to chest with his hands gripping my upper arms, I can’t stop the déjà vu feeling. The last time we were like this was under a dock at the lake, and my nose was right under his chin, just like now. Except then, it was because he was crouched down.
“You just want to keep me the same,” I whisper to him.
I don’t have any illusions about him making a move, touching me, or kissing me. He won’t.
“Quinn?” Farrow says from somewhere behind Lucas. “Neighborhood blackout. It happens. Are you okay in here?”
He must be just inside my front door, but I don’t break away from Lucas’s gaze.
“I’m okay.” I smile a little, taunting. “Always perfectly safe with Lucas.”
I try to get my body out from between him and the wall, but Lucas locks my wrists in each of his fists and spins me around, pressing my body into the plaster with his own at my back.
I dig in my eyebrows, the breath knocked out of me. What is he doing?
“Farrow?” I pant.
I twist my wrists, sweat breaking out on my forehead as I try to get loose.
But I can’t get away.
I can’t fucking get away.
I crane my neck, trying to get Farrow to help, but all I catch is the front door closing.
Farrow leaves me.
Lucas releases my hands, his body still pressed into the back of mine as his fingers graze my temple. He tucks my hair behind my ear.
I whisper, realization dawning. “They know you.”
“Better than you do,” he mocks in my ear.
My eyes go wide, his voice suddenly sounding like someone different. A stranger.
It makes my stomach stir with heat.
All of it—his absence for all of those years, his secrets—has to do with Weston.
They knew him—or of him—before they knew me.
His nose nudges my ear, his breath caressing my cheek, and I feel his hand glide down my back to my underwear.
I stop breathing for a second, not blinking, as he threads his finger under the lace trim, and I think he’s going to tear them clean off like I wanted for my birthday when I was eighteen.
Leaning into my back, his wet mouth on my ear, he tugs them down with both hands, and I go still as he drops with my panties.
Looking behind me, I see him squat, dragging my underwear down my legs to the floor. I step out of them, my pussy flooding with warmth and throbbing as he fingers the cotton and then looks up at me as he slides my panties into his pocket.
My mouth falls open.
I turn around, watching his eyes drop to the strip of hair between my thighs. His chest caves, and he rises, pressing his forehead to mine as his hand slides between my legs.
Grazing his fingers up my slit, he spreads my wetness over my skin until his jaw is hard and tight. He grabs my ass, squeezing.
My body shakes, my breathing shallow as he kisses my forehead and holds his mouth there. I untie the lace on my peasant blouse, opening it and dropping one side down my arm. He pulls back just a little, covering my skin with his eyes, and it feels like every drop of blood in my body is low in my belly right now. God…
Hands on my waist, he pulls me in and wraps his arms around me, and I do the same, both of us burying our lips in the other’s neck.
“Touch me,” I beg.
He clenches his fists in my hair, opening his mouth as if he’s going to eat me up, but then…
He shoves away from me, breathing out hard. “Oh, fuck,” he growls, rubbing his eyes.
Cold covers my skin, and it hurts between my legs.
No.
The long, thick ridge presses against the inside of his jeans, and right now, I don’t give a shit what comes out of his mouth. He can’t hide what I know he wants. I tremble, and I don’t know if it’s from desire or fear. Don’t leave. Please don’t fucking leave.
Standing up straight, he backs away, and I don’t cover myself. Damn him, no!
He walks to the foyer, picks up his shirt and comes back, tossing it to me. I catch it as it slaps against my body.
“No one will touch you now.” He glares at me. “No one except me.”
Because they think I’m his. And whoever he really is, they’re scared of it.
He starts to leave, and I won’t chase him, but he’s not off the hook, either. “You missed eight birthdays,” I remind him. “Eight presents.”