Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
His hips circle, a hand slipping between us and tracing a maze at my clit with his roughened work fingers that pull across my skin like sandpaper and spark fire through my body.
“I want to hear you, pretty girl. Cum on my thick cock and let me hear it.”
His words strike the final match. My orgasm ignites, short-circuiting my insides and loosening my muscles with every throbbing heartbeat. We tangle in reckless sensation, violent passion, a frantic connection building to a tidal wave that pulls me under.
“Jesus, you’re like a tight fist squeezing my cock.” He slips his tongue past my lips, swallowing my serrated moans. His hands tighten at my hips before he steadies himself, his head thrown back as rasped grunts float between us. “God, yes, baby.”
I suck in desperate gulps of air. The sound of our bodies slapping together, the scent of sex and cum and him, feed my arousal.
“I fucking love being inside you.” His teeth skim the shell of my ear. A slow smile creeps across my lips, my body still weak and recovering. He runs his fingers through my wild hair and nuzzles into my ear, drawing a long, deep breath. “You smell like me.”
I sigh contentedly, roll, and wrap my arms around his body. I open my eyes slowly to find him staring at me thoughtfully. A slow grin spreads across my face. “What?”
“You,” he grins.
“What about me?”
He traces the shell of my ear lightly with his thumb. “Watching you cum is fucking beautiful.” I feel a blush creep up my neck. “And seeing you blush…” His fingertips dust my collarbone. “Is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll never get enough of you.”
He slips a hand between my thighs, massaging the aroused flesh tenderly. When he pulls away, his eyes narrow for a moment before he looks back at me.
Blood—there’s blood staining his fingertips.
“Jesus, Sadie. You were a virgin?” He thrusts a hand through his already-rumpled hair.
I sit silently, suddenly ashamed I didn’t tell him. I want to leave, dart through his cabin, and never look back.
But can I? Is running even possible anymore?
“Sadie.” He pulls me into his lap, our chests heaving breathlessly, our limbs twisting and vining around each other until—he is right—I’m no longer sure where I end and he begins. Peace settles deep in my bones at the feeling. I trust him. I’ve never trusted any man but my daddy. Until now. Until Levi.
“If I’d known you were a virgin I would have been different…more…” He searches for words, and I see the regret swimming in his eyes as clearly as I feel my own tears well.
“I don’t want you any different, Levi. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want sweetness—forget tenderness—I wanted to feel you. I wanted to know how I make you feel. I wanted to know I turn you on so much you nearly lose your mind,” I whisper, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead.
He sighs, dancing his nose up the line of my neck, nurturing me, taking care of me, worrying over me. “I didn’t want to take it from you like that.”
“You didn’t, Levi.” I hold his face in my palms, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “I gave it to you.”
His eyes shimmer before his arms wrap around my body, his lips pressing against mine in slow, decadent, soul-fucking thrusts.
“Sadie–I waited for you. I’ve never been with anyone else–just you. It’s always been just you for me.”
I nearly sob with the emotions swirling in my system. He waited for me. He never shared himself with anyone else but me.
It’s then I know…
Levi Kane owns me.
Chapter 11
Levi
Iwake before she does.
The sky outside the cabin windows is still deep blue, the faintest streak of gold stretching over the ridge line. The mountains look different at this hour—quiet, waiting, like they’re holding their breath.
Sadie’s asleep on my sofa where she slept in my arms all night, curled under one of my blankets, hair loose and tangled from the night air. She looks younger when she sleeps. Softer. Not guarded. Not defiant.
Just her.
I stand in the kitchen for a long moment, staring at the drawer I haven’t opened in years.
Then I pull it open.
The velvet box sits exactly where I left it.
I turn it over in my hand, the weight of it heavier now than it was when I was eighteen and stupid enough to think love was simple.
The coffee finishes brewing behind me.
I pour two mugs.
Carry them out to the porch.
The sunrise is starting to spill gold over Devil’s Peak, the treetops glowing like they’ve caught fire in slow motion.
When I step back inside, she’s stirring.
Her eyes flutter open.
She blinks at me like she’s making sure I’m real.
“Morning,” she murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning.”
She pushes up on her elbows, blanket sliding down her shoulder. “You make coffee now?”