Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“Jonathan, please,” she whispered. “You’re drunk.”
And you’re edible. I had just enough sobriety left not to voice the sentiment.
Something in her gaze had me completely forgetting about the book, and it fell from my hand, clattering to the floor. I reached out to touch a strand of her soft hair, sweeping it over her ear, my knuckles grazing her cheek.
Her breath hitched, and my cock stirred. “I’m sorry,” I said. Then I continued without thinking, “You’re very beautiful.”
A lovely flush tinged her cheeks, and her hand remained flat against my sternum. Could she feel how her touch quickened my pulse?
“Why did you drink so much?” she asked gently, ignoring the compliment.
I didn’t want to answer. It was too painful, and I couldn’t handle the grief that rose forth, the agony that twisted around my vital organs. My hands came up to cup each of her cheeks, and she gasped, her dark eyelashes fluttering when I let my instincts take over and bent down, passionately capturing her lips with mine.
13.
Ada
My brain shut off, like an electricity grid suddenly losing power. One minute, it was a map of switched on, glowing lights, and the next, darkness. No connections were going through.
Jonathan Oaks kissed me, his lips caressing mine, coaxing them to open, and something not associated with my logical brain took over. I could taste the trace of alcohol on his tongue, but even that wasn’t enough to pull me out from under his spell. Perhaps I hadn’t fully woken up yet, and that was why I was so pliant. A quiet noise of pleasure escaped me, and I let him deepen the kiss, his hands still cupping my face as his tongue sensuously dipped inside my mouth. He took his time tasting me, and tingles scattered across my skin. Jonathan dragged me closer, his arousal hard and straining against my belly as I continued to let him kiss me.
My inability to think blinded me to the grave error I was making. This was my first kiss since Cathal. I hadn’t felt the need to try and date, too busy with work and spending time with Dad and Leonora. Finding a man hadn’t been a priority. And now, my decision-making was shot because I merely stood there letting Jonathan kiss me. For the first time in years, a man’s mouth was on mine, and perhaps that was why my body took over, a soft sigh escaping me.
A rumble akin to a growl vibrated up his throat as he tilted my head to deepen the kiss, ravishing me with his mouth. I gasped into his lips, and the sound spurred him into action because one hand left my cheek, travelling down my bare neck.
Breaking the kiss for the first time, his mouth joined his hand, laying hard, shiver-inducing kisses on my neck before he murmured huskily in my ear, “Can I taste you?”
His question was the spark that brought my internal grid back online, the words forcing a bolt of logic into my brain. Jonathan was very, very drunk, and I was stone cold sober yet still going along with this. Finally thinking clearly, I placed my hands to his chest and pushed him back a few inches. His eyes were still closed, his face leaning forward, lips seeking mine.
I cleared my throat, and his eyes opened.
“Jonathan,” I said, hoping the sound of his own name might ground him, bring about a little sobriety and common sense. “You need to go to bed.”
He smiled in a way that made my stomach fizzle, all slow and sensuous, a few strands of hair hanging down over his forehead. He smelled like spirits and expensive cologne, a heady mixture. “Yes, you’re right. Bed. Excellent idea.” When he reached for me once again, I gripped his shoulders to keep him at bay.
“No,” I replied. “You need to go to your own bed. Where are your keys?”
“Keys?” he frowned, stepping back and putting his hands in his pockets to search for them. I watched as he bumped into the couch then fell down. He really was plastered. Jonathan was strewn across the couch, his eyelids drooping as he gave up the search. I folded my arms, trying to decide how I was going to get him across the hall and into his own apartment when a soft snore sounded, and I belatedly saw he was already asleep.
Great.
Well, I guess it wasn’t such a disaster if he slept here for the night. At least this way, I might hear him choking on his own vomit and get to him in time to administer first aid. Grabbing the wool blanket I’d been snuggling under while reading and sipping hot cocoa earlier in the night, I threw it over Jonathan, made sure his head was positioned on a pillow and slipped off his fancy leather shoes. I left the glass of water within grabbing distance in case he woke up thirsty, and then I shut off the lamp and went back to bed.