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Love Drunk (Love Me Duet #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
1702214389 (ISBN13: 9781702214384)
One month, I fell for him.
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His flawless lips are right in my face, his perfect body inches from mine.
How I adore this man.
With everything I am.
Even when I know I shouldn’t.
His eyes skim my body, roam me with a pleasure that shines so brightly.
Rough hands touch me. If he wants to claim me again, I will let him.
I love this man.
I’m love-drunk on him, and I’m afraid I will never get sober.
The problem is, I want to be sober. No. I need to be sober.
I briefly close my eyes, taking in that word that captures me, steals me, and makes me drunk, so fucking drunk on him I can’t think clearly.
His breath’s on my ear now. He’s fast, always so damn fast. I can’t keep up with him.
“Don’t.” My eyes flash open, and he’s back in front of my face.
“Don’t what, Everly? Touch you?” His hand cups my sex.
Tears stream down my face and fall onto my top.
“Why cry, Everly? I am not hurting you. Yet.”
I shake my head. “Why?”
The tears are now streaming so fast it’s like Niagara Falls cascading over my eyelids. He leans in close again. His breath makes me tingle, and he licks my ear then takes my earlobe in his mouth, biting it.
“I want you. There’s no other excuse.”
I shake my head and he pulls back. His hand is still firmly on my sex, which he’s touched many, many times.
I’ve been in love with him now for three months.
How was I so blind?
How did I fall so fast?
“You don’t lie, Gunner. Tell me the truth.” My tears dry as he pulls back and looks me in the eyes. His gorgeous, dark, hypnotic eyes stare at me like they’re seeing right inside my very soul.
“You can’t handle the truth. And your father won’t tell you the truth either.”
I scoff and shake my head. “I want it from you. Why can’t you give me the truth?”
His hand touches his perfect hair—brown with natural blond highlights. It’s flawless. It’s the type of hair women pay big money for, and he’s somehow naturally blessed with it.
But, as with all blessings—and believe me, he has many—there comes a price.
I was too late to see the price.
To see who he really is.
I’m not sure I even see it all now.
Pieces. Fragments. Scraps. That’s all I have.
Just like one drink when you’re an alcoholic. You tell yourself only one more sip, it won’t do anything. But one sip is never enough to quench that thirst.
He’s like that for me.
I keep telling myself that one more sip won’t hurt, and that I won’t get drunk on him.
What a lie.
I’m always drunk on him.
Totally and utterly intoxicated by him.
The tears have stopped.
He’s watching me. Waiting. Unsure.
“Did you ever love me?”
His eyes look to the floor for answers that don’t come.
That hurts when there’s no automatic answer.
I turn to walk away, but like usual, he grabs my arm and turns me back to him.
“You know not to speak of that. You know who I am. I have not hidden the fact.”
I pull my arm free, and this time he lets me. “So many things not to do, not to ask, not to feel.” I throw my hands up in the air.
His posture shifts, and he stands tall. “I changed for you,” he says through gritted teeth.
This time, I laugh. “It’s nothing more than what you wanted me to see. Isn’t it?”
Turning, I walk out the door, hopefully taking my love-drunk heart with me.
“I love you, Everly. Is that what you want to hear?”
I’m out the front now, he’s followed me outside with his shirt open from my hands—having a mind of their own—unbuttoning it while we were inside. My eyes betray me, they can’t help themselves as they drop to see his gorgeous physique.
“You just want me to stay, Gunner.”
His hand runs through his mass of curls. Why is he so devastatingly beautiful? It’s really unfair.
“Stop saying my name,” I yell.
A door opens and a neighbor sticks her head out.
“Get back inside,” Gunner says without looking.
I turn back and see he’s watching me intently.
“I don’t think I can do this. Thank you, Gunner. Have a good life.”
The minute I turn, the tears start. They fall hard and fast like a thundering waterfall gushing with force and ferocity.
My heart is breaking, tearing into shreds. I’m not sure how I’m putting one foot in front of the other. But I am. I am walking away from him. Hopefully leaving the love-drunk part of me behind.
I walk past the club where it all started. The place where I met him.
It’s where my story with him started, so I guess it is fitting it ends so close to it.
My hands are on the hem of my dress—it’s one of those that creep all the way up and doesn’t stop creeping until your panties are showing. I try my hardest to pull it down, but the minute I walk, it sneaks its way back up to my ass.