Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
“We have a month to make up for,” he says, shutting the door behind me. “Where do you want to start?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer.
His mouth crashes into mine with a kind of desperate reverence. His hands are everywhere—my waist, my hair, my hips—gripping me like he’s terrified I’ll vanish again.
I yank his shirt over his head and run my hands across his chest like I’m relearning every inch.
“Say it again,” I breathe.
“I love you.”
“Again.”
He kisses down my throat, across my collarbone. “I love you.”
“Then show me.”
My shirt is gone in seconds.
He doesn’t just drop to his knees—he sinks like it’s holy. His hands slide up the backs of my thighs, and his mouth finds me with slow, devastating precision.
“Missed this,” he murmurs. “Missed you.”
“You had no right to still be this good at that after ghosting me for a month.”
He chuckles darkly against my skin. “Practice makes perfect.”
“If you practiced on anyone else, I’ll kill you.”
“Didn’t need to.”
Then his tongue sweeps over my center—and I fall apart.
It’s not soft. Not rushed. It’s relentless. He eats like he’s starving, like he’s been dreaming of this every night we were apart. His grip tightens when my legs try to give out, and he hums against me when I cry out his name.
“Harrison—” I gasp, but I’m already shaking, already gone.
When I open my eyes, he’s naked. Hard. Watching me like I’m the only thing that’s ever made sense.
“You still sure you want this?” he asks.
“I want you. Always.”
He doesn’t just enter me. He presses inside like he belongs there. Like it’s the only place he wants to be. He starts slow—deep, unhurried strokes that make my whole body tighten.
One hand threads through mine. The other curls around the back of my neck, grounding me to him.
My name breaks from his lips in a ragged whisper. I match him stroke for stroke, heartbeat for heartbeat. Each thrust is a vow, a promise, a breaking point.
When he loses control, I do too.
I come again just from the sound of his voice in my ear—deep, low, ruined.
I don’t remember collapsing.
Just the way he catches me, gathers me close, and wraps both arms around my body like he’s never letting go again.
“I guess I can forgive you completely now,” I whisper, my cheek against his chest. “Under one condition, no contract.”
“I’m listening.” He kisses my shoulder, lips soft and certain.
“When you say you want to be with me, are you thinking—until our relationship runs its course and we’ll just be ‘happily together for now’ or—”
“No.” He cuts me off with another searing kiss. “I mean forever, as in happily ever after…”
EPILOGUE
HARRISON
Yes, I see you judging me—calling me a hypocrite for getting a “happily ever after” after swearing they’re unrealistic.
But with Eliza? It honestly isn’t.
We argue now and then—how could we not, with our personalities?
But we always settle things in the sheets, so there’s no point in dwelling on the small stuff.
Now, go ahead and pick up your next book in the genre.
Let me spoil it for you before you even crack the spine:
The heroine and the hero end up together on the last page.
Always.
Forever.
Period.
—
***THE END***