Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
She shook her head. “You are a god.”
“Seriously, then Carl ran away like dog with his tail tucked between his legs!” Fiona said into her phone as I came into the kitchen about an hour later.
Skye was down for her afternoon nap, and I had exactly two hours before I needed to head out for the airport. It was a little bittersweet putting her down, knowing that I probably wouldn’t be here when she opened her eyes again, but Fiona and I had gotten really good at Facetiming with her.
“I think he might actually leave me alone this time,” Fiona continued, pausing when she locked eyes with me. “Oh, I told him he’s a god.”
“Hardly,” I scoffed.
“He seriously is,” she continued, a smile spreading across her beautiful face. “Daisy, I’m going to have to call you back later, okay?” Another second, and she ended the call, putting her phone on the counter.
“I’m not a god for telling a guy to leave you alone, and you shouldn’t have to feel sorry about not picking up his calls, either.” I leaned back against the counter and crossed my ankles.
Her smile widened, and fuck me, she was stunning. Hair up in a ponytail, yoga pants and a T-shirt, and I’d never seen a more beautiful woman. She was effortless, honest, and so naturally sexy that my pulse skyrocketed just looking at her.
“Well, thank you,” she said, striding across the kitchen floor, her arms open, and her smile beaming. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tight.
I laughed at how happy she sounded over something so easily accomplished. Most women I knew wanted expensive dinners, lavish gifts, and tagged Instagram posts. Fiona just wanted me to scare off a clingy ex. She was entirely too easy to please.
“It was no big deal—”
“It was!” She pulled back slightly, her arms still looped around my neck. “Thank you!” She kissed me, hard and fast, just like I’d done to her in the hallway all those weeks ago. It was nothing, just a hard peck of her lips, and yet my entire body went stiff. “Thank you…” Her voice dropped off as her eyes widened, and she stepped away quickly.
Somehow we’d found ourselves in the exact damned situation.
Because you’re attracted to each other.
“Fiona—”
“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head slowly. “That was entirely unprofessional of me, and I just…” She squeezed her eyes shut, scrunching her nose. “I’m sorry.”
But what if she hadn’t been? What if I wasn’t? Where the hell was the line between feeling a connection to someone and denying it because of the lines we drew?
“Brogan?” she asked, slowly opening one eye.
“Are you?” I asked, my voice coming out like I’d just run it through the garbage disposal.
“Am I what?” She questioned, blinking.
“Sorry?” I gripped the counter. “Because I’m not, and I’m trying to tell myself to keep my feet planted right here. That I can’t kiss you like I want to because that would be fucked up given our power dynamic—”
She took two steps and then kissed me again, twining her arms around my neck. It was soft, sweet, and not nearly enough. “Kiss me, Brogan.” Her words teased my lips.
“Fiona—”
“I’m the one crossing the line,” she whispered. “Kiss me.”
I broke.
My mouth slanted over hers, my tongue sliding past her teeth and sinking into her. Damn, she tasted like the cherries we’d picked up at the market and that sweet, unidentifiable flavor that was all Fiona.
Fuck, yes.
I kissed her until we both struggled to catch our breath, and then I kissed her until we forgot about breathing. Lifting her by those sweet hips, I pivoted, putting her down on the kitchen counter so we were almost the same height, and then I kissed her some more.
“Brogan.” Her hands tunneled through my hair, and when she split her knees, I spread her thighs and stepped between them.
I fucking loved the way she said my name, how I was never Demon or Grant to her. I wasn’t just a name on a jersey or a guy on the roster for the Reapers. She saw me. Good and bad. Tired and rested. Patient and shook. Fiona saw me.
“You taste so damn good,” I said, sliding into her mouth again. Need fueled my blood—the need to taste her, to get closer to her, to hear what her cries sounded like when she came. That need blasted past every warning system my brain possessed and roared through me with an urgency I’d never experienced before.
She kissed me back with soft sighs, light nips of her teeth, and a silken tongue that was slowly driving all sanity from me. Her hips rocked, and I grabbed the globes of her ass and tugged, bringing her flush against me.
She gasped, her grip tightening in my hair as she glanced between us.