Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Then Hunter moves. His hands come up, so big and gentle I almost laugh at how careful he’s being, and cup my face. The warmth of his palms is a shock against my cheeks.
I forget how to breathe.
He leans in, so slow it feels like a dare. His forehead brushes mine, and I can feel his breath, warm and minty, ghosting over my lips.
“I’ve been dying to do this.” His voice sends shivers down my spine.
I shake my head, dizzy, waiting until he kisses me. The world implodes as his lips cover mine. There’s nothing soft about it. My hands shoot up, gripping his shoulders, and I feel the flex of muscle under my fingers.
His mouth moves over mine, hungry and wild, and I match him beat for beat. My lips part for his tongue, and the heat is instantaneous. My moan fills the room around us, and Hunter groans back, the sound vibrating straight through my chest, down to places I didn’t know could ache like this. He tilts my chin, deepening the kiss, and I let him. No, I mentally beg him.
For a second, there’s nothing but urgent, frantic, desperate need. My pulse hammers out of control.
When he finally breaks away, I gasp for breath. My head is spinning, legs like Jell-O, lips tingling from the force of his mouth on mine.
Hunter’s eyes are darker now, pupils blown. He keeps one hand cupped around my cheek, thumb stroking along my jaw. His other hand slides to the small of my back, grounding me so I don’t float away entirely.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, not even trying to hide how wrecked I am.
Hunter huffs a rough laugh, voice even lower than before. “You can say that again,” he says, like a confession.
I lick my lips, tasting the sweet-hot burn he left behind. Man. We need to slow things down a little bit. “We should probably head out for our walk.”
He’s about to say something else, but Buster seizes the opportunity to nose between our legs and sit at Hunter’s feet. Hunter glances down and then back at me, then leans down to attach the new leash with a laugh.
“C’mon,” he says, his gruff voice softening, “let’s walk your anxious pup before he decides to use the hall for his bathroom.”
Hunter reaches for my hand, laces our fingers together, and gives a gentle tug. I follow, dizzy and grinning. Buster leaps ahead, ready for our adventure.
As we walk down the hallway, I glance over at Hunter, the big, grumpy, beautiful man who has completely ruined me for anyone else. His thumb traces lazy circles on my hand, and I swear, for the first time ever, his scowl softens.
Buster loses his mind the second his paws hit the sidewalk. He tries to leap straight into the nearest patch of grass. Hunter grunts but doesn’t let go of my hand. He just tightens his grip as we follow the excited little puppy down the quiet sidewalk.
“Chill, buddy,” he mutters as Buster surges ahead, nose to the ground, ears flapping in the wind. Hunter matches my pace, slow and deliberate, his body radiating warmth.
Every nerve ending in my body is on high alert, and just walking next to Hunter is enough to fry my brain. His fingers are locked with mine, palm callused and warm, and it’s all I can do not to trip over my own feet from how dizzy he makes me. The way he glances at me from the corner of his eye? I actually have to suck in a sharp little breath just to keep my knees from buckling.
We hit the end of the block and the entrance to Worthington Hills Park, and I’m pretty sure Buster’s about to take flight from his excitement. He hits the grass running, nose to the ground, little beagle ears flapping as he sniffs every blade of grass.
Hunter squeezes my hand, thumb brushing over my knuckles in slow, lazy circles. Every time our arms brush, electric shocks vibrate through my skin. I can barely remember my own name as my stomach does a somersault.
I break the silence first. “Did you always want to be a firefighter?” I ask, needing to discuss something ordinary.
His jaw tics. “Ever since first grade, when Mr. Tullen came to career day in his full gear.” He shrugs, smirking down at me. “I knew I’d look good in the uniform.”
I can’t believe it. He’s actually joking.
My jaw drops. I gawk at him, and then just start laughing. It slips out before I can stop it—the kind of laugh that’s half wild giggle, half delighted snort.
Holy shit. This man really is trying to kill me.
“Mr. Tullen must’ve been pretty impressive in his gear,” I tease, bumping my hip into his as we walk.
Hunter gives me side-eye. “He was fifty, balding, and needed to lose a pound or fifty. So, no.”