Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
She’s wrapped around me, legs locked at my waist, and it feels like I was built for this. For holding her, carrying her, taking her exactly where we both need to go. My hands grip her ass, palms guiding her higher as I propel us toward the bathroom.
Her mouth drags over my neck, her tongue tracing fire along my skin until I can barely breathe. My cock throbs hard against the press of her body, every nerve lit up and blood rushing fast. Her nails dig into my shoulders, the desperation in her touch echoing down my spine.
“Jesus, Mack,” I gasp as she nips at my pulse point, marking me like she’s claiming her territory.
And I’m here for it.
I’m ready to be hers, for her to be mine, for the final walls to drop, leaving nothing but her and me and how perfect it is between us.
“Touch me.” She slides down my body, every inch of contact making me want to howl. “Touch me everywhere. Please. Everywhere.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I growl, cranking the water on in the shower before spinning back to take care of her.
We tear at each other’s clothes like the monstrous things they are, these stupid barriers keeping us from finally being naked together. Her sundress catches on her earring. My shorts get caught in my knee brace. We’re graceless, desperate, laughing and cursing as we wage war with cotton and spandex.
And then, there she is, in nothing but white lace panties and a matching bra I can see through and…
My brain short-circuits.
It’s just an error message up there, a spinning pinwheel of death, because she’s…
She’s Makena. Makena, golden in the sun streaming through the shutters, her lips swollen from kissing me and her big blue eyes locked on mine, full of trust and hope and a tender thing I’m too superstitious to name, but God…
If I weren’t already in love with her, I would be now.
I’m not going to fuck this up. Not even a little bit. I can’t. I won’t.
“You’re staring.” Her voice breaks, making me think she might still be a little nervous, too.
But hell, I’ve never wanted a first time to be as good as I want this first time to be. I want it to be perfect for her, to prove to her this is right in every way a thing can be right.
“Because you’re beautiful.” The words scrape out of me, raw. Real. “And I want you so much. I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you, Makena DeWitt.”
“Me, too,” she says, her arms coming around my neck. “I want you so damned much, Leo Parker.”
Our lips crash together again—tongues, teeth, wild and hungry. Her hands work my boxer briefs down, I pop the clasp at the back of her bra, and just a few seconds later, we’re skin to skin. Her breasts press against my chest, my cock is trapped between us, and I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but groan into her mouth like a dying man as her fingers dig into the base of my spine.
“Shower,” she pants against my lips. “Now. Please. I need to be up against the wall with you inside me as soon as humanly possible.”
We stumble under the spray, still kissing, hands everywhere. The water’s a little too cool, but I barely notice as her fingers wrap around my cock, making my vision go white at the edges.
“Fuck.” I brace a palm against the tile to keep from collapsing as she begins to work me up and down. “Mack, God, you have to—”
“Is this what you thought about?” She strokes me slow, torturous, her thumb circling my head in a way that makes my hips jerk. “When you were touching yourself in your bedroom, while I was twenty feet away doing the same thing?”
“Every fucking morning.” I catch her wrist before she can work her fist back up again. “But I thought about this more.”
I drop to my knees on the shower floor, water pounding over both of us as I kneel on the tile. The fancy flex-action in my brace holds like a champ—God bless elite sports medicine.
Makena stares down at me, water sliding down her gorgeous body in obscene rivulets, and a part of me insists that I should draw this out. Say something dirty or funny or both. Tease her a little.
But I’m way past teasing.
I’m starving.
I wrap my hands around her waist, drawing her closer as I press my lips to the jut of her hip bone. She gasps, her breath shuddering out as she rests trembling hands on the top of my head.
“I’ve been dying to taste you,” I murmur against her skin. “Every night. Every morning. All I think about is this.”
And then I drag my tongue through her folds and everything inside me explodes in fireworks of celebration. Like a lost soul finding water in the desert. Like a man hearing music after years of terrible silence.