Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
How do I get this look for the rest of my life?
42
Wren
It’s Saturday, and Atticus is back at his grandparents’ for the rest of the weekend, living his best life. I’m pretty sure he’d move in with them if I let him—he’s got free rein, unlimited snacks, and all the grandparent spoiling a kid could want.
I’m supposed to meet Natalie for another girls’ night later, but the dress I’m wearing is . . . more revealing than I’d usually go for. She picked it out for me the other day at the shop and practically begged me to wear it tonight. I didn’t want to be rude. Plus, it really is cute. Baby blue, sleeveless, fitted in all the right places, the hem hitting just above mid-thigh, making my legs look longer than they actually are.
My mind wanders to Hunter, wondering what he’d think of me in this.
I bite my lip, imagining it driving him wild.
I’m almost done with my hair and makeup when the urge hits—the itch to write. I can’t not scratch it, not when the words have been coming so easy lately.
I abandon the bathroom counter, dash to my office, and grab my sunflower notebook, paging through all the scribbled letters I’ll never send, until I find the last one. Then I crack open my laptop and start tapping out a frenzied sex scene for Unsent Love Letters. Before I know it, an hour’s gone and I’ve got not one but two new chapters down.
I’ve still got two hours before I have to meet Natalie.
Perfect. More time to write.
I’m just about to start another chapter when there’s a knock at the door. I glance at the clock, frowning. Natalie’s not supposed to pick me up, and my parents learned after last time not to show up without calling first.
Peering out the bay window, I spot Hunter’s white pickup.
My heart leaps into my throat at the sight.
When I greet him at the door, he’s holding a small stack of mail, but his eyes are already on me—dragging down my body, lingering on my legs, my hips, the way the dress hugs and exaggerates my curves. His jaw ticks, his nostrils flaring slightly like he’s trying to rein himself in. But the more I study his expression, the more I don’t think he’s turned on so much as he’s bothered by the sight.
“Did you get my mail or something?” I ask, playing coy.
“What’s the occasion?” The tone of his question reminds me of a protective father. I realize now that he probably thinks I’m going on a date.
“Girls’ night out.” I spin in a circle. “It’s a little much for the Tipsy Turtle, but—”
He doesn’t let me finish.
Instead, he steps forward, wraps an arm around my waist, and tosses me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
“Hunter—what are you—”
“You’re not going out looking like that,” he mutters, carrying me up the stairs. “Not until I’ve had you first.”
My stomach flips, a breathless laugh catching in my throat as I swat at his back. But it’s useless. He’s all muscle and determination, and before I know it, he’s kicking my bedroom door open and tossing me onto the bed.
I bounce once, breathless, flushed, staring up at him.
His eyes are dark, hungry, devouring me.
“You can’t do this to me,” he growls, crawling over me, his hands sliding up my bare thighs until he reaches my panties. “You answer the door looking like a snack, and you’re going to get eaten. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go out looking like this, not without me dripping out of you, reminding you no one else can give you what I can.”
I grin. “You sound jealous.”
“I am.”
“And a little possessive.”
“You bring it out in me, honey.” His lips curl at one side. “Don’t act like it doesn’t turn you on just a little.”
In my thirty-nine years, I’ve never had a boyfriend be jealous or possessive of me, and I always thought those traits would border on creepy. But not with Hunter. It amplifies his sexiness.
And it only makes me wetter.
He kisses me, hard and deep, his hands moving under my dress, dragging it up my hips until it’s bunched around my waist. His mouth moves down my neck, sucking a mark just above my collarbone, claiming me with bites and nips.
“You have any idea how good you look right now?” He breathes his words against my skin.
I shake my head, dazed, wanting, wishing I could cancel my plans and have a night in—with him.
He sits back, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me onto his lap. I’m straddling him, the dress pushed up, nothing between us but my panties and his jeans. His rough hands roam, palms skimming my thighs, my hips, my waist. He traces every curve like he’s memorizing them.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. You have no idea,” he says, his voice thick. “I could come just looking at you.”