Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
For the first time since I’d walked out of Terre Haute, I allowed myself to want something without reservation or guilt. And as Cora melted against me, I knew with absolute certainty that I would do whatever it took to keep her safe. To keep her mine.
Her kiss tasted like surrender and salvation all at once. I slid my hand around to the back of her neck, gripping her in a dominant hold she accepted without protest. I didn’t break the kiss, but pulled her onto my lap, needing her closer, needing the weight of her against me. She came willingly, her thighs sliding to either side of mine, settling herself against me with a soft sound that vibrated through my chest. The feel of her straddling me sent heat flooding through my body, pooling low in my stomach and instantly making my cock hard.
Cora tugged gently at my beard as she explored my mouth with increasing boldness. The hesitation from earlier had vanished, replaced by hunger that matched my own. She rocked slightly against me, whether intentionally or not I couldn’t tell, but the friction against my cock drew a low groan from deep in my chest.
Her lips curved against mine in response, pleased by my reaction. I felt her smile more than saw it. Then I was lost. From the night Sarah died to the moment Cora walked into my life, I’d merely existed, not really wanting to continue on but not knowing what else to do. Now, I had purpose, someone to protect and cherish for the rest of my days. God help me, I couldn’t let her go even if I wanted to.
“Marcus,” she breathed against my mouth, the sound of my name on her lips. Telling her from the beginning to call me Marcus instead of by my road name had been impulsive on my part. Now, I thought maybe I’d known all along Cora was the woman for me. Hearing her say my name separated her from every other woman in my life other than Sarah. After Sarah passed, no other woman had ever called me anything other than Rancor.
I slipped my hands under her shirt, finding the warm skin of her back. She shivered at the contact, goose bumps rising beneath my fingertips. I traced the ridge of her spine, the subtle curve of her waist. The softness of her skin against my calloused palms felt like a kind of absolution.
She pulled back slightly, eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated so wide the blue was just a thin ring around black. Her lips were swollen from our kiss, cheeks flushed with color that had nothing to do with tears now. I’d never seen anything more beautiful.
“I want…” she started, then faltered.
“What?” I urged, my voice rougher than I intended. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she whispered, the single word carrying such weight I felt it settle in my chest like a stone. “Just you.” She swallowed and I saw the vulnerability hovering just beneath her expression. “Please make love to me, Marcus.” With deliberate movements, she reached for the hem of her shirt, drawing it upward. I caught her wrists, stopping her.
“Me,” I murmured. I sounded like a fucking caveman, but I honestly couldn’t get the words out. I wanted to unwrap her, to claim my present like a greedy toddler on Christmas morning.
She nodded, seeming to understand my primitive mindset. She raised her arms above her head as I grasped the fabric, lifting it slowly to reveal inches of pale skin. I took my time with her, every new inch a slow reveal. The gentle sweep of her belly under my hand, the hard edge of her ribcage, the black lace of her bra stretched across pale skin… all of it combined to create something hard and combustible inside me. Each layer sparked something hot and sharp, and I let myself savor the feelings surrounding me both inside and out. I drank her in, all of her, every single detail, not wanting to rush, not willing to miss a thing. When I finally pulled the shirt over her head, her hair fell in tousled waves around her shoulders, static making strands cling to her cheeks.
I brushed them back, tucking the silky strands behind her ear with careful fingers. Even this small gesture felt intimate in ways I hadn’t experienced in years. She watched me with wonder in her eyes, like she couldn’t quite believe I was touching her this way.
“Your turn,” she said softly, reaching for the hem of my shirt. When she tugged the fabric over my head and tossed it aside, her breath caught. I knew women appreciated the heavy muscles of my torso. I’d never really cared before now. The way she looked at me made me want to puff out my chest in pride. She didn’t find me lacking physically.