Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
But his hands were already sliding up under my shirt, squeezing, rolling, teasing.
It wasn’t long before my hips were rocking back against him. The hard line of his cock pressed against me. Desperate for more, I reached back, working his button and zipper free, then reaching inside to wrap my hand around him. My own legs pressed tighter together as my sex clenched, already thinking of him deep inside.
“Impatient,” he said, teeth nipping my earlobe.
But he was just as desperate.
I lost his hand as he dug in his wallet for the condom, then quickly protected us before sliding back behind me again.
His knees cocked up behind mine.
His body pressed closer.
Then his hardness was against me, then surging deep inside.
A low, deep moan escaped me, mingling with his rough curse as he filled me.
“Almost forgot how fucking good you feel,” he said, breath warm on my ear as I wiggled against his lap, needing movement, needing friction.
I figured, after days of not being able to have this, he would be hard and rough and desperate to get us both to the finish line.
Which was why I was surprised when he shifted his hips back slowly. Then just as slowly slid back deep inside.
I expected to be frustrated by the pace.
But slowing things down made me achingly aware of each thick inch as he moved inside me.
I expected the intensity of the need for release. What I didn’t expect was this broken-open sensation on my chest as this big man held me gently, and his lips and tongue lightly teased my ear and my neck.
And the only problem?
Perish seeped into those cracks, filled them, filled me.
And I knew right then that it wasn’t just enjoyment anymore, just harmless sex.
Because we’d gotten too close over our little lockdown, being in each other’s orbit, sharing casual conversations, learning things about each other thanks to proximity and curiosity.
This wasn’t just about sensation.
It was about connection.
And the feelings that had been growing.
I squeezed my eyes shut when they burned and forced myself not to think, just to feel, just to get lost in what was easy, uncomplicated.
The way I wanted him.
The way he wanted me back.
And as my body climbed closer and closer to that cliff, it became easier.
Perish groaned in my ear as the orgasm coursed through me, then rocked deep and tensed as he came.
But as soon as the waves of pleasure ebbed away, all that was left were the feelings.
Perish held me for a long moment.
Until the sound of the bike rumbled closer and closer.
Fallon had arrived.
That was what had him releasing me, moving away, then handing me my pants and underwear before tucking himself away and heading down the ladder.
Alone, I pulled my clothes back on.
Then pulled my knees to my chest, leaned forward, and let the tears come.
I knew myself well enough to know that if I tried to hold them off, they would just come out at the most inopportune moments. Over a petty frustration. Watching a sad scene. Hearing someone say something nice. Anything could be a trigger.
So I just wrapped my arms around my legs and let the hopelessness of starting to fall for a man I could never have overtake me, draining from me tear by tear.
Then, when there were none left, I wiped my cheeks, blew my nose, and made my way down from the glass room.
I stopped only to dig in my purse for my eye drops. One pro tip I’d learned was that if you were going to be someone who cried a lot, you had to carry eye drops to get the red out. Or everyone was going to keep asking you if you were okay.
Satisfied, I squared my shoulders and made my way upstairs to fess up to Fallon about the party.
All the while trying to avoid looking at Perish, even though I could feel his gaze on mine, something intense there that I was choosing not to analyze. Because what good would that do?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Perish
She was avoiding me.
I thought at first that she was just a little restless, always getting up and moving around the clubhouse.
Lord knew I was getting a little cabin fever too.
But on the second day of her seeming to find an excuse to leave the room every damn time I entered it, there was no way it was a coincidence.
Pair that with the memory of her coming up from the basement after we’d had sex in the glass room, with her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks, and, yeah, something wasn’t right.
Sure, I’d heard endless stories at this point—from Gracie herself and her cousins and uncles—about how much she cried over things, everything from birthday cards to TV commercials. But there was no way those tears weren’t connected to me.
If it was any other interaction, I would have worried I’d physically hurt her. I was a big fucking guy. Sometimes I worried I didn’t know my own strength, especially with someone more delicate like Gracie.