Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“I’m not— Oh God, sweetheart. I’m not made for that. All I do is hurt people, all I do is trap them. Starve them. Make them close their eyes and go to sleep.”
His words don’t make sense on the surface, but they do on a deep level. I feel them resonate on the same level as my bone-deep certainties. That I’ll always be left by a man who doesn’t love me. And he’s so worried about trapping me that he’s determined to leave. We make quite a pair.
“You don’t have to protect me anymore,” I whisper. “I’m grown-up now.”
“You won’t ever be old enough, understand? It’s not about your age. It’s about the fact that I’m responsible for you. I can’t let you die.”
Maybe it should scare me—that word. I can’t let you die. Except this is a man who has lived with death as his shadow for so long. I see what it costs him to send men and women into danger. What it costs him to risk his own brothers with every mission.
I find the button to his slacks and work them, clumsy in the dark. And then his zipper. At any moment he might stop me. His breathing saws in and out, audible even though he can run twelve miles a morning barely breaking a sweat. This is what’s straining him, the hardness of his cock in my hand. It feels softer than I expected. The salt tang of him comes to me in the dark, and I nudge toward him, in search of his desire. My nose bumps his cock first, and a shudder runs through him.
“Samantha,” he says on a helpless chant. “Samantha. Samantha.”
Blindly I search for him in the dark, my lips landing on some velvet-burn place on him. I send my tongue to feel him, to trace a raised vein. Then I pull back, toward the tip, finding that ridge again, exploring it with my mouth while he pants and groans above me, a benediction in the night.
“Is this okay?” I say, pausing uncertainly.
His hand lands on top of my head, falling down to stroke my hair, to grab it in unruly fistfuls. “It’s more than okay. It’s incredible. I can’t take it. I’m dying.”
I might not know what he means except that he did the same thing to me while I played Beethoven’s “5 Secrets.” Which means I know that dying means he’s close—but not there yet. So I lick him again, remembering the rhythm he used between my legs.
His hips push forward in small thrusts, uncontrolled, almost as if he can’t stop them. His cock moves through the circle of my fist, the same way he did in the shower.
My lips feel swollen as I pull back, sliding against the soft head of his cock as I speak. “You were angry at me that I kept the Coach Price thing a secret, but how many secrets are you keeping from me?”
“It’s my job to keep those secrets.”
“Bullshit,” I say, punctuating the word with a pump of my fist. The velvet skin moves apart from the hard muscle beneath. “I’m not talking about any of your classified government contracts. I’m talking about you and me and how I came to be in your custody.”
He makes a sound of protest—and I don’t want to hear him give me more lies, more platitudes. More attempts to soothe his own guilt by telling himself that’s what I need from him.
So I press a kiss to the head of his cock, to where the wetness pools into a salty drop. I lick it away from him. And lick again, to find that another one has formed. It’s a sensual feast, doing this in the dark, hearing his shuddery breaths.
“You have to stop,” he says, his hips pushing harder and harder.
I make my fist tighter around him, working him, making love to him with my hand—it isn’t impersonal at all. This is the way I make music with my bow and violin. Every twitch of my fingers, every slight pressure. His ragged breathing and low groans are the music I make.
Heat gathers between my legs, but I force myself to ignore that. There are more important things at stake than my arousal, the dampness in my sex. The ache in my clit.
“Don’t you know how it takes away my power, not to know what happened to my own father, what happened to me? I can’t even remember that night. Only that when I woke up, my father was dead and there was a stranger who would take care of me. Don’t you see how it’s hurting me?”
A low animal sound of pain fills the air, making the hair on the back of my neck rise. He does see it, he does, but he can’t do anything except succumb to the physical release. I close my mouth around his cock, catching his climax on my tongue. I swallow, greedy, knowing this might be my only taste. I lave him gently, kiss him, kiss him, soothing him as he comes down in jerks and pants.