Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
I let him strip the tee off, a pillow princess of the most royal kind, arms flopping to the sides as he sits up to take a better look.
Even hungover, even with the world spinning slightly, he makes me feel like I’m the only thing he sees. Like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than wrapped around me like this, all bare skin and breathless murmurs.
This is what? Day five? Two more to go before I go back across the lake to my dumpy, boring apartment. Back to reality.
Maverick dips his shoulders, lowering his face to my chest, and I watch as his tongue languidly licks one of my nipples, his mouth sucks on it until my lower half becomes wanton and needy and greedy.
His stubble grazes my skin as his lips drag lower, tongue circling lazily before he switches sides, lavishing the same attention on my other breast. My back arches off the mattress, seeking more, my fingers plowing into his hair as he kisses his way down my stomach.
I know where he’s going, and I want it bad.
The sun’s barely up, light filtering through the blinds in golden slats, casting shadows across the sheets and the planes of his back as he settles his shoulders between my thighs, looking up at me like I’m the entire reason he woke up this morning.
Gives my pussy a lick.
In that moment, I don’t feel hungover.
I feel high.
“I didn’t even like you a few days ago,” I whisper, threading my fingers into his messy hair. “And now look at me.”
His grin is sinful. “You love it.”
Love.
That word.
A memory of last night and the words “I think I love you” come rushing back, along with snippets of other memories. I said it back.
A surge of panic flickers through the haze of pleasure, but then his hand slides up my thigh again, anchoring me, and everything blurs when his mouth sucks at my clit. Fingers spread me.
Ohhh . . .
Mmm . . .
I think I love you, I think I love you, I think I love you . . .
My head throbs.
My body’s trembling—part from the memories, part from his mouth—but mostly because of the way I feel everything.
All of it; his hands. His breath. The deep, dizzying pleasure building in my core.
I can’t take it anymore.
“Come here,” I whisper, voice rough, needy.
He looks up, a question in his eyes.
I tug at him, urging him upward, dragging him over me with shaky hands and pounding heart to kiss me, slow and deep.
“Mmm,” I moan into his mouth as he positions himself to enter me, and I reach between our bodies the way I did last night to guide him. Both of us gasp the second our bodies connect.
This is reckless. I could get pregnant, since I just stopped taking birth control.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet.
We’re desperate.
His mouth crashes into mine again, swallowing my moan as he sinks deeper. My hands grip his shoulders when he thrusts over and over and over again—deeper and harder this time than last night—and I arch off the bed with a cry.
Oh shit, this feels good . . .
Every nerve ending lights up like a fuse, hot and electric, until I can’t tell where I end and he begins as he drives into me with a rhythm that’s feverish and unrelenting.
One of his hands finds mine and threads our fingers together, grounding us even as everything else spins wildly out of control. We’re still drunk on each other, on everything we don’t understand but crave anyway.
I raise my free hand, resting it on his shoulder, fingers bending onto his shoulder, pressi—
And that’s when I see it.
A ring.
A thin gold band glistens on my left hand, winking at me from the fourth finger.
My breath catches mid-moan.
Maverick’s still moving, lost in the moment, forehead pressed to mine, sweat slick on his skin.
But I can’t unsee it.
The ring.
My hand.
I stare at my finger as he pounds into me, headboard hitting the wall, every nerve in my body suddenly more sensitive at the sight of it. Pleasure courses through me like a storm, electric.
Thrilling.
Confusing.
The sight of that thin gold band sends a rush through me I didn’t expect.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s crazy.
But it’s also turning me on more than anything ever has.
I feel like I could fly apart, come undone, split open from the pressure inside me—and then I do. My body contracts with release, lights flashing behind my eyes as I cry out, clutching him, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist as the world blurs.
And he follows.
“Fuck, Annabelle . . . oh fuck . . .”
With a guttural sound, he buries himself so deep it has me gasping, hips jerking as his hot come spills inside me, his breath hot and uneven. His hips jerk again.
Again.
After several seconds, I turn my head to the right, breath still ragged in my throat. My heart pounds—not just from what we’ve done, but from the spark of panic starting to creep in.