Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Yes . . .”
The pressure inside me coils tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, and I shatter completely, my body trembling. He doesn’t stop, drawing out every last ounce of my release, his hands firm and grounding on my skin.
Aftershocks ripple through me, leaving me utterly spent and weightless.
He doesn’t move right away, his lips brushing kisses against my inner thigh.
“You’re so sexy.” Harris slides his hands gently up my thighs, caressing them—going from teasing and confident to soft and reverent.
“I’m so limp right now.” I nervously giggle.
“I’m not.”
Not sure what to say to that.
I stare at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, trying to appear nonchalant while my brain scrambles to process the situation. Is this a date?
I shift slightly, feeling the absence of my panties like a glaring neon sign over my head. Where are they?
The floor?
The couch?
Oh God, what if they’re on the coffee table? I act casual, leaning around Harris’s broad shoulder to get a glimpse of the living room, my eyes darting over the couch, the floor, anywhere my underwear could have landed in my frantic scramble to get undressed.
But there’s nothing. No sign of them.
“Looking for these?”
He’s holding my underwear with his index finger, swinging them ever so slightly, a devilish smirk on his face.
“Yep,” I say, nodding furiously. “Thanks. I’ll—” I lunge, but he pulls them out of reach, his grin turning downright sinful.
“Please. Allow me.”
I swallow as I watch Harris deliberately slide my underwear up my legs, the soft fabric brushing against my calves, knees, thighs. His hands are warm and firm, his touch just this side of too slow, and the way he looks up at me through his lashes makes my breath stutter.
“There we go,” he murmurs, his thumbs grazing the skin at the tops of my thighs before he tugs the waistband back into place, his hands lingering just a moment too long.
My entire body is on fire, and he knows it.
Harris rises to his feet, that devastating grin still firmly in place. “Now,” he says, his thumb tracing a lazy line along my hip, “we need to finish our movie. And we’ve barely touched the food.”
Oh.
Right.
The movie and snacks.
Clearly—since he’s putting my clothes back on—he’s not planning to strip me completely naked and have his way with me on the couch. Oddly, I’m somewhat disappointed—is that weird?
“Yeah, totally. The movie. Pizza.” My voice comes out awkward and a little too chipper as I snatch my bottoms from the floor and pull them up my hips. I’m not about to sit here in only my thong.
Harris leans back, stretching out like he owns the place—and grabs the remote from the armrest. “You want to start over from the beginning or pick up where we left off?”
“Uh . . .” I glance at the screen, where the characters are bickering as they enter a restaurant for dinner. “Where we left off is fine.”
He is so close.
Smells so damn good, and now I know what his mouth feels like . . .
I shift slightly, tucking my legs beneath me in a poor attempt to create space between us. But Harris notices, of course. His arm dips lower, his fingers brushing my shoulder. It’s barely a touch, but it sends a ripple of heat down my spine.
Wow. Who knew the smallest touch could create this much chaos?
“I don’t do this kind of thing,” I admit quietly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
“What kind of thing?” His brow furrows slightly.
I gesture vaguely between us. “Fooling around with people who take my classes.”
He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “We met before I was in your class, remember?”
I roll my eyes. “I meant guys I don’t know how to handle.”
He’s amused. Grins. “I’ll let you handle me any way you want while I’m in town.”
My heart sinks—an involuntary, unwelcome reaction that surprises me. I shouldn’t care. This is casual. Temporary. I’m not foolish enough to think it could be more.
He studies my profile while I chew. “Lucy,” he says, his voice coaxing. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Nothing.
Everything.
I glance at him, his expression open and curious, and for a second, I consider brushing him off. But something about the way he’s looking at me—earnestly, as if he actually gives a shit—makes me pause.
I go for honesty.
“I’m . . .” I clear my throat, searching for the right words. “Trying to figure out how this works.”
“This?” He raises an eyebrow.
“This fling.”
“Fling,” he deadpans, lips twitching. “You’re so cute. Who said this had to be a fling?”
He’s teasing me. I can see it in the way his eyes are crinkling at the corners.
“Um—the fact that you live in Arizona?”
He laughs softly, the sound low and rumbling, and for some reason, it makes my stomach flip. “Fair point,” he admits, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “But that doesn’t mean this has to be meaningless.”