Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
“Yeah, ‘oh’,” I murmur, voice all grit and desperation. I cup her jaw, rough palm dwarfed by the softness of her cheek. Her wild curls tickle my knuckles. “You have no idea what you do to me, Sierra. I can’t function normally. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. All I do is think about you. And all the things I want to do to you.” She trembles under my touch. Doesn’t try to run, doesn’t even fake it. Her eyes are locked on my mouth like she wants me to devour her right here on the counter. My cock throbs, hard enough I see stars for half a second. I’m done pretending, but my one last functioning brain cell decides to make sure she’s with me. “If you don’t feel the same way, tell me now, and we’ll forget this conversation ever happened and go back to avoidance and Post-it notes.”
“And if I do feel the same way?” She nibbles on her plump bottom lip.
“Then I kiss you.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SIERRA
My heart is pounding away in my chest as I stare up at him, trapped by the breadth of his arms, and the air in the butler’s pantry feels twice as thick, all the oxygen siphoned out by those four words. Then I kiss you. He doesn’t move, just watches me with those stormy blue-gray eyes. His expression is hard enough to stop a train in its tracks.
I want to say something witty, to toss him back on his heels with a sharp comeback. But all I do is nod, once, barely. My voice is a ghost when I whisper, “Kiss me.”
Rogan closes the last inch between us, hands still braced on the counter, and his mouth hovers over mine for a second. The warm, musky scent of him flows through me.
He makes a noise deep in his throat, then his lips crash onto mine. The first touch is a jolt, like he’s not sure he’s allowed, but he’s going to risk it anyway. The kiss is careful, for about two seconds. After that, the world tilts and I’m plastered against his chest, my hands trapped between us as his body molds to mine.
This kiss is immediate, all-in, out of control. His lips claim mine, rough and sure. A sound, humiliatingly close to a whimper, escapes from my throat. He swallows it whole.
Somewhere in my brain, I register that I am up on my tiptoes and have grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt. I don’t remember deciding to do this. Rogan pulls me closer, so close my toes barely graze the ground, and his arms lock tight around my waist. The world narrows to the heat of his mouth, the scratch of his stubble against my face, the impossible hardness of his chest against my breasts.
“Jesus Christ,” he growls into my lips, like a curse and a prayer in one. “You taste—fuck.”
I want to say something snarky, but my brain has short-circuited. His tongue traces my bottom lip, and I open, hungry, and suddenly his hands slide up my back. Palms broad and hot, fingers spreading under my shirt, searching for skin. I moan, and the sound seems to fuel him. The kiss turns raw and desperate, all teeth and tongue and days of pent-up need.
I lose track of time. Could be a minute, could be an hour. There is no before or after, just this. I tangle one hand in his hair, desperate to keep him there, and the other grips his shoulder so tight I feel the muscles flex and jump under my fingers. He bites my lip, soft and quick, and the shock of it sends a bolt of heat right to the core of me.
He’s the first to pull back. Barely. Our noses bump, lips still brushing. I can see the dazed look in his eyes and know, with a flash of wild satisfaction, that he is every bit as gone as I am.
“Fucking hell. Why did I wait so long to do that?” His breath ghosts across my mouth, rough and uneven.
I swallow, fighting for composure. “Yeah.” I blink up at him, breath coming in gasps. “Stupid for waiting.”
He grins, crooked and cocky and so unguarded it makes my knees wobble. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“And what a page that,” I shoot back as I try to drag air into my lungs.
Rogan studies me, expression shifting from hungry to something softer, almost reverent. His thumb brushes along my jaw, gentle and careful, like he can’t believe this is really happening. I can’t believe it either, honestly. “First, we’re going to get to know each other. Then, we’ll take things from there.” His voice is soft, but the way he looks at me? Anything but gentle. Like he wants to devour me and memorize every damn inch, but he’s got the patience of a saint. Or a predator. Or maybe both. Holy cow. I’m in so much trouble.