Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I come for the third time, body going rigid and nails digging into his skin. His breath comes out in ragged huffs and I know he’s holding out on his own orgasm, not wanting to stop fucking me yet.
I rake my nails up his back and he shudders, letting out a guttural moan. I love a man who isn’t afraid to make noise in bed. There’s something so hot about the animalistic sounds coming from sex. You can’t hold back, can’t keep quiet if you want to. It takes over in all aspects until you’re screaming so loud it wakes the neighbors.
I run my nails over him again, pressing hard enough to leave red lines over his tattoos. His breathing gets heavier and heavier. I move my hands to his face, feeling his rough beard under the palm of my hands.
“Lauren,” he grunts, putting his lips against mine. He pushes deep inside and lowers himself, letting out another moan as he comes. I kiss him, tasting myself on his lips.
He holds himself in me, cock pulsing, then slowly pulls back.
“Told you I was getting some,” he says, voice breathy. He flashes that famous grin, and I want to fuck him all over again.
“I never said no.”
“Just admit you can’t resist this.” He sits up and motions to his body.
I laugh. “You know I can’t. The second your shirt comes off, I’m a goner. Really, the power you hold over me isn’t fair.”
“Don’t overdo it now,” he teases. “I want to believe you.”
“I think coming three times in ten minutes is evidence enough.”
He grins again. “Yep. I’m good.”
Chapter 16
NOAH
I DON’T WANT to be the man Lauren expects. I want to be the man she deserves.
I’m on my way back from the studio, and I’m still feeling guilty about making her come and get me from The Roadhouse the other night. Though I was only half awake when she left this morning, I could see the dark circles under her eyes. She didn’t say anything, not one complaint, as she quietly moved about the house so she wouldn’t wake me.
I’m stepping it up. I’m not going to disappoint her again. And it’s surprising how much disappointing her disappoints me. I can do better. I know I can.
For the first time in a while, I pull into the grocery store parking lot. I’m making Lauren dinner tonight. I just don’t know what to make. I text Colin as I walk into the supermarket.
What’s your sister’s favorite food?
I should know this. She’s the mother of my child, for fuck’s sake. It takes until I’m pushing a cart down an aisle of vegetables to get a reply from Colin.
Which sister?
I roll my eyes at the screen. He’s being an ass on purpose.
The one I slept with. So your guess is as good as mine.
He responds right away. Not cool, dude. It’s bad enough you actually did sleep with one. Lauren likes cheese.
What can you make with cheese? Grilled cheese? I’d hope for something a bit … more … for tonight though. Fuck. I rarely got home cooked meals. Actually, ninety percent of any home-cooked, legit healthy meal I ate came from the Winters’ house. No wonder Lauren is a good cook. She grew up like that.
And I want our kid to grow up like that too. Family dinners, all seated together and eating something that didn’t come from a paper bag. My own mother was a fan of fast food, and then “fend for yourself” once I got old enough to drive.
It’s not like she was a horrible mother, just an absent one. She took it hard when my dad left. She had to pick up the pieces of life, deal with the hell I raised, and still work to provide for us. She worked the evening shift as a nurse at a nursing home, and was gone by the time I got home from school and asleep when I left in the morning.
My mother was a hard worker—still is—but she put work first. I think it was her way of dealing with the divorce, of dealing with being cheated on and left with a child she didn’t know how to raise.
But it was her dedication to work over me that caused me to drift away, and caused things to be awkward between us. She didn’t want to be around me. I look like my father, after all. It hurt as a kid, but I’m over it now. She didn’t try, and I sure as hell didn’t either.
And it’s not like I hate my mother. We’re just not close. We talk on the phone on the important holidays. Once I graduated high school, she moved an hour away, saying she needed a fresh start. She never got over the divorce. Her untreated depression was almost contagious, and being around her brought me down, which is why I haven’t told her she’s going to be a grandma yet.