Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
"I know. You can stop saying it now." I sigh quietly. "I was more upset about the day than about what you said. My mom and I always spend his birthday at the cemetery. We take him flowers, and we eat cake, and just sit there and talk to him. We're just…together, you know? Even after she got remarried, we still kept up the tradition. It's always been our day to remember and celebrate him. But now…"
"Now, you're here," he finishes softly, wiping my damp cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.
"Yeah. Now, I'm here. It's the first time I haven't been there. I guess it just hit harder than I thought it would."
"Me being an asshole didn't help."
"It wasn't just you. A student flipped a desk today."
"What the fuck?"
"I busted him watched porn in the middle of class. He was mad about getting caught and took it out on me." I huff out a breath. "Like it's my fault he decided he'd rather screw around and be stupid than use his brain."
"Did he hurt you?" Noah growls, his voice dropping an octave.
"No, of course not. He just had a little meltdown. We had to call his parents in for a meeting. They're pissed—at him, not at me. He may be expelled." My shoulders bounce in a shrug. "It was a shitty day."
"How can I make it better?"
"Kiss me."
I don't know why I say it. Honestly, I don't. The words just tumble out without me even thinking them. They're raw and desperate, like I need his lips on mine more than I need air. And maybe that's true. Maybe it is what I need.
I think it's what I've needed since I saw him standing on my porch holding a plate of cookies. But I don't know how to say any of that—just like I don't know how to tell him that he hurt my feelings this morning because I've been falling for him for weeks.
He groans, a broken, desperate sound. I expect him to tell me no or give me a laundry list of reasons why he shouldn't kiss me right now. I'm sad, not delusional. I know kissing him when I'm emotional and vulnerable has bad idea written all over it. But, even if I hadn't just cried all over him, I'd still want it.
Apparently, he does too. Or else he just doesn't want to tell me no, because his hand slides to the back of my head, his fingers sinking into my hair.
His sweet breath washes across my face. His lips crash into mine, and I taste the apology in his kiss. He isn't soft or hesitant. His kiss is feral, desperate, like he's been starving for me and finally has permission to devour.
He claims my mouth like it belongs to him, his hands running all over me at the same time—spanning my waist, kneading my hips, sliding up my spine, and fisting in my hair.
My fingers dig into his shirt, twisting the soft cotton tighter with every frantic sweep of his tongue. He smells like aftershave and mint, a combination I'll never get enough of.
The dark, wild hunger in his kiss sends heat spiraling low in my belly, and I can't get close enough. I want to live right here in his kiss, safe from everything except the earthquake he sets off in my chest.
I shift in his lap, trying to get comfortable, and end up straddling him. The move startles me, but the way he growls into my mouth makes me bolder than I've ever been.
He cups the back of my neck and angles my head, deepening the kiss until I'm dizzy. Every time I breathe, I inhale him.
"Jesus, baby," he rasps, breaking away just enough to drag in a breath. His forehead presses to mine, his eyes hooded and dark. "You have no fucking idea what you do to me."
I want to tease him or tell him that he's been doing the same thing to me for the last month, but words have abandoned me. All I can do is kiss him again, harder, until his hands slide down my back and grip my ass. He grinds me down against him, and oh god, I can feel how hard he is.
The friction between us is electric.
His mouth sweeps along my jaw, down to a spot beneath my ear that makes my knees weak. "You want this?" he asks, his lips brushing my skin. "You want me, Elsie?"
"Yes," I breathe, the word barely audible, but he hears it.
He groans in response—this deep, guttural sound that vibrates through my whole body. One hand slips from my ass, his fingers trailing along my waist before splaying wide against my stomach.
"I need you to tell me if you want to stop," he says, his voice thick. "Anytime. I mean it."