Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
In the dim light, it’s somehow easier to cross the distance and I never take my eyes off him as I step closer, closer, and then I’m in his embrace, my arms sliding around his waist, cheek against his jaw. I take a deep breath, and while he could use a shower after what we’ve been through, I’m comforted by his smell anyway. It’s only been a few days since the motel, but it feels like a lifetime.
“Thank you for standing up for me,” I whisper, running my hands up and down his strong back. His arms tighten, and while I can no longer breathe, I love being this close to him.
“You literally threw everything away to help me. Of course I’m on your side,” he tells me, rubbing his stubble against my skin.
“I missed you so much. I don’t think I can be without you anymore.” And I don’t know when that happened, but it did. Somewhere between him stabbing me and us falling into a fuckfest, I fell in love with him so hard my heart hurts when I think about it.
“We’ll make this work,” he says, exploring my back with both hands, as if he’s a starved man in need of making sure the meal he’s been spared won’t be the last. “Fuck, I thought you were gone—”
I love the warmth of his sturdy body. It reminds me that he’s alive, not a cooling corpse. I shudder at the memory. “And I found you in my cabin with foam running down your mouth. You were so cold, and your heart beat so faintly, I was sure you were dead. I didn’t want to live. I almost pulled some Romeo and Juliet shit and shot myself. But then I heard your pulse, and… Road, I’ve not cried in ten years, but last night, I bawled like a baby.”
He’s overcome by a full-body shudder and slides his face against my neck, nose under my jaw bone, as if he wants to crawl inside me. “And I thought you were a bit smarter than me,” he says in a faint voice.
“Guess not, so don’t you fucking die again.” I don’t care what I had to sacrifice to have him. I’ll probably worry about it tomorrow, but when I’m in his arms, it doesn’t seem to matter.
He pulls away but keeps one arm around my waist as he guides me to the bathroom. Located in the very middle of the cabin, it has no windows, and without the wood to warm up the atmosphere, its white interior seems weirdly clinical in the home of someone like Road. There’s not much in terms of fittings either—just a sink with a mirror-doored cabinet above it, a toilet, and a bathtub. A wooden basket likely contains dirty laundry, but that’s it. No decor of any kind.
“I stink,” Road tells me with an apologetic smile and starts running the water into the tub.
I stroke his head, still amazed that I’m here with him. Alive. After all I’ve done yesterday. I’m optimistic, but not stupid. I might still die in the coming weeks, so I better make the best of it.
“I could use a bath too. Not at all because I want to see you naked again.” I pull on his T-shirt to take it off him. The acerbic smell of sweat somehow draws me even closer, and I kiss his collarbone, combing my fingers through the hair on his chest. There’s such comfort in touching him like this, proving to myself that we’re both still here, and for the time being at least, we can be happy.
“Of course not,” he says and presses a kiss to my nose before nipping my cheekbone with a playful smile. His hands pull at my belt, as if we’ve never parted.
I melt for him. I don’t have it in me to regret anything I’ve done when he touches me like this, when he looks at me as though he’d stand up to my whole club as long as I was on the other side of the fight.
“I’ve been holding back for too long.” I explore his shoulders with my fingertips. “Trying to pretend you’re just a casual fuck I can quit at any time.”
Road blinks, licks his lips, and stares at me, thirsty for more, desperate for my voice and whatever else it might reveal. He’s so damn handsome, so unapologetically masculine, but his sharp jawline or muscular chest can’t compete with the way he’s stood by me, how he’s refused to sacrifice me for an easy way out.
I don’t think I ever had anyone who’d do that for me. My club had my back, but always with strings attached.
“It was a lost cause,” he agrees, opening my belt, and then my zipper.
I shiver when he slides his hand in. There are no rushed movements, he just holds his palm against my dick, but that’s enough for me right now.