Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“Are you going to come for me again?”
“I don’t know.” She tosses her head restlessly, hair tangled against her sheets. “I can’t usually, but—”
“Try.”
Her breathing quickens, and she’s panting now.
I keep rubbing with my fingers, slowing down a little so she has time to process the sensations. Grabbing a pillow, I push it under her ass, the better to delve deeper, stretching her to her limit.
“There. Right there!” Her eyes go white as they roll.
“Come, girl. Don’t hold back,” I mutter, fighting to stop myself from coming inside her.
Not yet, dammit.
There’s no way I’m about to finish before she loses it again.
Even if it means I have to go over the multiplication table and the ancient Greek I took on a whim at school.
Whatever happens, I don’t let up, my hips working like a demon, a single-purpose machine designed to break her.
“I think—” Her eyes snap open. Fuck, I’m losing it, the pressure building at the base of my spine. The moment it moves to my balls, it’s all over. “I think I can.”
“Now, Lena!”
After a scalding moment, she stiffens, and I know I’ve won the secret battle with myself.
I’ve also beaten that greedy ratshit ex out of her brain, making her come like she never could with him.
“Yes, yes,” she whimpers. “Brady, please!”
I couldn’t hold back if I tried. The second her pussy clenches my cock like a fist, I’m gone.
My electric climax chases hers, turning me pure animal.
I empty myself in her with a roar, forgetting about her neighbors, forgetting about anything except this.
Except her.
That’s new to me—this feeling of being turned inside out.
I’ve always enjoyed myself with sex, but this?
This is divine.
This is the music of the spheres made flesh.
This is the kind of spectacular fuckery that sticks under your skin like a bur, soul-deep and always reminding me it’s there. As long as I can keep her.
My cock heaves for an eternity, wringing my balls out.
Then I collapse on top of her, into the warmth of her embrace.
We lie like that for a while—me bracing so I don’t crush her and her limbs tangled with mine.
I can feel her heartbeat slow, and I’m sure she can feel mine too.
“Wow,” she whispers, thoroughly exhausted.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Wow.”
“Is it just me, or was it better than last time?”
I press a kiss to her forehead, glazed with sweat. I want to tell her so many things, but they catch in my throat, so I just say, “Yeah. I’ve heard that happens when you know someone well.”
And I want to get to know her.
It’s ridiculous and unnecessary for the paid sham we’re running, but I do.
She twists around until we’re lying on our sides, facing each other. The unnatural flush has left her face now, mostly, but she’s still glowing from exertion.
This might just be my favorite look on her.
“Your first time?” she teases.
“What? Do I look like a damn virgin to you?”
“Doing it more than once with the same girl, silly.”
Laughter barks out of me, harsh and unexpected, and I brush my lips against hers.
“First time it’s made me want to do it again so soon,” I say.
She laughs, fingertips dancing against her jaw.
“How long do we have to wait?”
“Give me five.”
Her eyelids flutter closed, though it’s not that late yet. We haven’t even had dinner.
I know the feeling. The whole day’s slipped away, and I didn’t get much sleep with her in my bed last night.
Tonight, I’m only going to get a few hours again.
Not that it bothers me.
For once, I’m not thinking about work or the dog food formula or my father slumped in his chair, angry and disapproving of every breath I take.
Tonight, it’s just Lena and me, and that’s all I want in my world.
Tomorrow, I’ll worry about the impact—the feelings I shouldn’t have slamming into my life like a screaming meteor.
XV
Having A Lark
(Lena)
Hello, disaster. My name is Lena.
It’s the second time I’m waking up next to Brady Pruitt, and it feels like my heart is doing backflips.
It’s official.
I’m feeling things.
Warm, gooey, butterfly-kissed things that no self-respecting woman should ever feel over an arrangement that’s a total fraud.
This is fake.
Fake!
I scream it at my inner self, but of course she’s too busy basking in the sugary afterglow.
That’s a problem, isn’t it? With his big arms around me and his soft breath falling against my hair, this doesn’t seem remotely unreal.
Not even a little.
And the way he touched me last night didn’t feel fake.
It felt like the realest thing in the universe.
We have a contract, though.
We have a flipping expiration date.
A moment in time and space and heartache where we’ll part ways as planned. The more attached I get, the more it’s going to break me when that moment comes.
Just because we’ve had gravity-defying sex and his mother likes me doesn’t mean we’re meant to be anything more than temporary partners for a very strange deal.