Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Or maybe it’s just…him.
This man, who is slowly but surely convincing me I deserve more than the “little sympathy” Stevie Nicks asked for in that song. That I deserve a partner with the compassion and intelligence to see what I’ve been through and the integrity to ensure I’m never betrayed again.
Nix and I might not make it as a couple, but deep down, I know it wouldn’t be because of lies or games. It wouldn’t be because either of us was too cowardly to face our demons or do the work.
Nix is clearly ready to do the work.
All the work.
And suddenly I can’t think of a single reason not to let him.
The moment he sets the drinks on our table, I’m on him, wrapping my arms around his neck as I drag his lips to mine. Without a beat of hesitation, he threads his fingers into my hair, making a light fist as his tongue sweeps past my lips.
The kiss is hot, possessive, both of us staking a claim right there beside the dance floor, with our friends and his coworkers just a few feet away. But I can’t bring myself to care.
I forget that I’m a private person.
I forget that we’re fake.
I forget everything except the heat of his mouth and the solid strength of his chest against mine as his free hand slides down my spine, molding me even closer.
“Get a room, dude!” a deep voice calls, followed quickly by a female voice hissing, “Oh, stop! Leave them alone. You’re just jealous.”
Nix and I pull apart to see Torrance scowling down at Sierra at the back of our booth. “Yeah, I am,” he agrees. “Less filming and more kissing, woman.”
Sierra giggles as she shifts the angle of her phone, holding it in the air above them as she says, “How about filming and kissing?”
Torrance grins, his arms twining around her as he murmurs, “Fine with me. I don’t mind who watches as long as I get a taste of this sweet little mouth.”
As they melt into a hot, sloppy kiss, Nix leans down to whisper into my ear, “I do mind who watches. Come on.”
His hand finds mine, his grip firm enough to make my pulse stutter.
He starts toward the back of the bar, drawing me with him. “We can’t use the family bathroom,” I insist softly, even as a part of me is arguing that there are worse things than getting railed under a stuffed squirrel in bondage gear. And really, the fact that I popped my head in to take a peek at the family bathroom after I used the ladies’ room earlier proves I’m not as innocent or grossed out by getting it on in a public bathroom as I pretend.
“Of course, we can’t,” Nix says, casting a heated glance over his shoulder as he steers us past the mechanical bull. “Trust me.”
The words shut me up fast, because…I do.
I trust him.
Trust him more than I think I’ve realized until this second, as he turns down a narrow hallway, moving quickly past a door marked “Office: Staff Only,” into another, even darker passage. But even as the light grows so dim I can barely see his light blue T-shirt in front of me, I don’t hesitate. I trust that he knows what I want, what I like, and would never take me somewhere I’m not happy to be.
I’m still struggling to wrap my head around the enormity of what that implies, when he darts to our left, pulls me inside a small room, and shuts the door firmly behind us.
This space is dark, too, but my eyes have adjusted enough that I can make out the floor-to-ceiling metal shelves lining the walls, stocked with dusty bottles of moonshine, novelty glasses, cocktail napkins, and several cardboard boxes. A single bare bulb dangles overhead, but neither of us reaches for the chain to turn it on.
I simply drive my fingers into Nix’s hair as he pushes me back against the shelf, both of us moaning in relief as we crash into each other all over again. Our kiss is harder this time, deep and eager, Nix’s teeth catching my bottom lip as his hands grip my waist hard enough to send fresh heat rushing between my legs.
The shelf digs into my back, but I don’t care.
I’m too grateful to be alone with him.
I sigh against his lips, and he swallows the sound, his tongue sliding hot and slick against mine. I claw at his shirt, fingers digging into the soft cotton as I pull him closer, while his hands skim down over my hips, my ass, gripping fistfuls of my skirt and dragging it up around my waist.
“Yes,” I whisper, celebrating the increased freedom of movement by wrapping one leg around his waist.
He presses closer, grinding against me through his jeans and my panties. The feel of his erection through the fabric is enough to make me even wetter. “Fuck, Charlotte. You feel so good.”