Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Heat. That delicious tightness.
Home.
I groan loudly. God, it feels so fucking good in this position.
I fuck her, ego rewarded when a broken sob of pleasure catches in her throat. I draw back and roll my hips, finding that rhythm that makes her arch and reach one hand onto the headboard. Push against it as I grip her hips a little harder . . . drive deeper.
Slam into her, skin slapping.
“Harder,” she whines. Begs.
Fingers bite into her hips as I hammer forward, pace turning ruthless, the slick drag of her and the scrape of that tiny strip of lace making me see stars. The headboard thuds the wall; she shoves back to meet me, greedy and wild, gasping my name.
“You want it rough?”
A barely perceivable nod. “Yes.”
I trap the wrist that’s on the headboard while the thumb on my other hand finds her clit again, working her pretty little nub at the same time I pound her from behind. Every time I bottom out, she moans, the sound turning my brain to static.
I keep her panties shoved aside, the elastic biting into my cock while I drive into her, the angle cruel and perfect . . .
“Don’t stop, don’t stop . . .” she groans.
I crash into her, giving her every filthy inch of my dick, chasing my own orgasm with a rough rhythm that leaves us both shaking.
“That’s it, baby.” F-fuck, fuck, fuck. “Come on my cock.”
When she does, it’s loud.
Gorgeous.
Sexy.
I tug at her hair, pulling gently as I spill inside her, vision blurry, breath ragged. Moaning. Groaning.
I hold her steady through the racking aftershock. The tremble in her thighs slows into a satisfied melt. Then I ease out, palm her spine, kiss the back of her neck.
So fucking satisfying.
She laughs and collapses onto her side. I follow, dragging her against my chest, mouth in her hair while our breathing evens out.
Minutes pass like that—nothing but two hearts beating.
I hook a finger in the ribbon at her hip and tug it loose, stealing the satin bow like a thief.
“I’m keeping this,” I say, lifting it to my nose. “It smells like you.”
How I’m supposed to let her leave is beyond me.
Chapter 26
Layla
As soon as the wheels of the plane touch down in Washington, Star Lake reality rushes back. It’s raining. The clean, mossy weather chills my bones in a way that only the mountains and fresh air can.
When I take my phone off Airplane Mode, I find three texts from Faith, two from my landlord about the garbage pickup schedule once it begins snowing, and none from a number I’ve been checking for since I landed.
Nothing.
I tell myself that’s a good thing. We’re adults. Mature. Not needy. Friends.
Or at least, that was my mindset before my common sense got screwed senseless into a puddle on a Scottsdale mattress, over and over again . . .
“Welcome home, liar.”
I am so, so weak.
By the time I claim my luggage, I’ve rewritten our last hour together into twenty different versions—every one of them ending the same way: me walking away with my head held high and intentions clear. It was just a brief thing—not a forever thing—and at some point in the near future, I promise myself I’m going to force myself back into the dating pool.
Faith:
You home yet?? Coffee? I have gossip.
Faith:
Or I’ll bring coffee to You. I can be at your place in ten.
I stare at her bubbles, thumb hovering. Coffee with Faith is usually an automatic yes.
But at the moment the inside of my head is a muddled mess. If she looks me in the face, it will tell her everything she needs to know: that I thought I could walk away from Hayes and Benny without all the emotional entanglement, but the truth is I can’t.
When he said the sex was going to make him impossible to forget, he wasn’t wrong.
It’s not just the sex, though, is it?
It’s everything about him. It’s the way he parents—steady, funny, relentlessly present—and how Benny’s bravest version of herself seems to bloom when he’s in the room. It’s the quiet after, when neither of us feels the need to fill it. He’s dark and light and broody but soft. Kind and caring but protective.
And I already miss him.
Funny how that works, hey?
Me:
Can we rain-check? I’m gross and my suitcase lost a wheel on the trip back. It’s been one of those days . . .
Three dots appear immediately.
Faith:
You get One grace period if you promise to send me voice notes later.
She is going to pester me until I relent.
Me:
I am too tired even for those!
Faith:
Girl, it was like—a 3-hour flight.
Faith:
And you’ve been gone for what, four days?? Hello, I have shit to tell you and you have shit to tell me.
Yet another message comes through: What if you come here instead and we sit in the hot tub and drink wine??