Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
His hips bucked upward instinctively, dragging a low moan out of me.
I hadn’t changed my mind.
I didn’t want to give him forever.
But we could have this.
Just one last time.
My hips rocked, making both of us gasp at the much-needed friction.
Harrison’s fingers tightened on my hips as his own bucked up against me, making a choked whimper burst from my lips.
“I remember this being good in Vegas too,” he agreed, fingers teasing up under my shirt. “And in the city.”
My blood warmed at those memories, in anticipation, as he sat up, taking my shirt up and off, then touching me without the barrier.
I swear each touch rewrote my awareness of my own body.
Want stirred, a lazy curl beneath my skin that spread and grew as his hands drifted over my ribs, traced the edge of my bra, then, finally, worked the clasp free and tossed it to the side.
I arched back.
He leaned in.
His mouth was on me then, sucking, circling, flicking.
All the while, my hips rocked, riding his length, giving us both a taste of what we needed, but allowing the frustration to grow in equal measure.
His hands slid back down my sides, across my belly, then worked my button and zipper free.
Anticipation buzzed across each nerve ending as he grabbed me behind each knee and pulled until I flipped onto my back on the mattress.
He moved up to his knees, reaching down for my pants and dragging them and my panties down my legs.
Then I was completely bared to him.
His gaze lingered.
His fingers grazed every inch of me, as if he knew this was the last time too, as if he were trying to commit me to memory.
The reverence in his gaze had something breaking open in my chest, leaving me feeling raw and split open.
When the tears pricked my eyes, I knew I had to stop him, had to turn the sensations into something hotter, something that burned instead of warmed.
I shifted back up, pushing him until he was flat again, until I was straddling him, taking control.
I reached between us, pulling down his underwear until his hardness sprang free.
I shifted up, then pressed down, feeling the slide of him against me.
A soft curse escaped Harrison at the slick feel of me, at the needy whimper that escaped my lips.
Harrison’s hand shot out, digging around in the nightstand and coming back with the small square foil.
Desperate for the feel of him, I lifted up, allowing him a second to protect us.
Every muscle in his body was tense, shaking with his barely contained need.
When his hands went to my hips again, they dug in, bruised.
“Ride me, Layna,” he demanded, his voice a raspy sound that brushed over my skin, and sank into my bones.
I lifted up, positioned, and sank down.
A cry escaped my lips at the thick stretch of him.
Losing the battle with his control, Harrison’s hips thrust up into me, his cock settling deep.
It was pure instinct then.
I rocked.
Harrison thrust up into me.
With each moment, our movements grew harder, rougher.
The want tightened, sharpened, hurt, and yet I chased more of it, riding harder and faster.
Until, finally, the tension snapped and my body surged.
Everything clenched.
Everything released.
Harrison groaned, his hips surging deep as his body tensed, coming with me.
I fell forward afterward, every bone melted, every muscle atrophied.
My head buried in his neck as I fought to even out my breath.
Harrison’s arms went around me—one low on my hips, the other between my shoulder blades, holding me against him.
Slowly but surely, calm returned to our bodies. Beneath my ear, his heartbeat slowed. But I couldn’t seem to make myself lift away. I wasn’t sure he’d let me if I tried.
So I didn’t.
I let myself be held.
I let the warm feeling in my chest grow and spread through me.
At some point, when my hips began to ache, I shifted off to his side, still nestled close.
Eventually, I drifted off to sleep, still wrapped in his arms.
—
I woke up sometime in the middle of the night, warm, content, my face pressed to Harrison’s shoulder, his arm draped casually around my hips.
I wanted to stay just that way forever.
And that was why I pulled away, inch by inch, making sure I didn’t rouse Harrison as I slipped off the bed.
I fumbled around in the dark, gathering my clothes, then went into the sitting room to dress.
I found my bag, made sure my phone was inside, then carefully made my way into the hall, closing the door as soundlessly as possible.
The click made my heart drop.
And I chose to believe it was because I was worried I’d woken Harrison up, not because it felt like I was closing the door on our sham of a marriage for good.
My eyes burned the whole ride back to my hotel. My limbs felt heavy. My clothes felt too tight. Everything felt wrong.