Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Neither of us wins. Or maybe we both do, when Ian pulls me up and rolls me to my back.
His mouth captures mine, kissing me deep as his body pins mine to the bed.
I arch, and we both freeze when his cock nudges against the damp V of my underwear.
He gives me one last kiss before pulling away and opening the nightstand drawer. Ian tears the foil packet with his teeth and rolls on the condom. Then he eases my thong down my legs and tosses it to the ground.
His gaze drops between my thighs as he parts them. “Later,” he says quietly, “I’m going to lick you here.” He runs a single finger down my wet seam, and I cry out, both from the touch and his words. “But right now,” he continues, slowly resting a palm on each side of my head as he raises himself above me. “Right now, I need to be inside you.”
Ian eases forward slightly, his expression pure concentration as he watches my face. I’m tight and he’s big, but the friction is delicious.
He’s breathing hard as he withdraws, then pushes back in slowly. He’s the picture of restraint, clearly trying to take his time, for me, for us. To make it last.
There will be time for that later. Right now, I don’t want to be teased. I want to be taken.
Greedy, I reach down and cup his butt, urging him forward. “Hard.”
He looks in my eyes first, making sure. Then he gives it to me. His hips drill into me hard, and I arch to take him in, my body providing soft give to his hard strength.
Can you die from pleasure? If you can, this is the way I want to go, with Ian pounding inside me, his hips circling with every thrust to rub in exactly the right place until I’m aching, needing . . .
“Come,” he says when my vision starts to go blurry with passion. He nips my breast with his lips. “Come for me, Lara, just like this.”
I cry out, arching my back, and he meets me there, his body jerking as he lets go with a low groan.
I’ve always thought orgasms were orgasms. Always good.
Wrong.
Sometimes they’re so blisteringly good you’re both terrified it’ll never end and terrified that it will.
Ian drops beside me, still breathing hard, and I muster the energy to roll toward him.
He turns his head slightly, pressing an absent kiss to my forehead before gathering me close. “Well.”
I smile. “Well.”
Ian shifts to look down at me, his fingers finding a lock of my hair and stroking it with his thumb. “You never did answer my question.”
“Which one?”
“Worst lay you’ve ever had.”
I bite my bottom lip. “Oh. Gosh. I had a different answer before, but . . . wow, this is awkward. I feel like I should at least let you get dressed before I answer. You know, to save your pride.”
He tilts his head back, then lets out a laugh of pure masculine confidence. “All right. What about the best lay you’ve ever had?”
I roll my eyes. “Do you put notches in your bedpost, too?”
“Maybe.” He gives a quick wink.
He rolls toward me until I’m on my back once again, and his eyes return to mine. “Ask me.”
“Ask you what? Worst lay you’ve ever had?”
“A gentleman never kisses and tells. Ask me the other one.”
“Best lay you’ve ever had? You just said a gentleman never—”
“You.” He stamps a kiss on my lips.
When he pulls back, I mean to roll my eyes again and call him out on the line. But then I see it . . .
Embarrassment. His cheeks are just the slightest bit pink, and he looks at me, and he’s . . . fidgeting. There’s a sweetness to his nervousness that undoes me.
I set both my hands on his face. “Ian.”
“Yeah?”
I lift up slightly to brush a kiss across his mouth. “Me too.”
27
IAN
Week 5: Sunday Morning
I’m halfway down the hallway to my apartment when I realize I’m humming.
For fuck’s sake, get it together, man.
Stacking one Starbucks cup on top of the other, I dig my apartment key out of my running shorts and push open the door.
And smile even wider.
There’s a woman in my kitchen wearing one of my T-shirts and tiny little sleep shorts.
No, not a woman. The woman.
Lara glances up from whatever she’s whisking and adjusts her glasses, taking in my running clothes and slightly sweaty state.
“Is getting up at four a.m. a regular thing for you? To exercise? On a Sunday? If so, I have very serious doubts about our compatibility.”
I grin. “That’s crazy talk. My alarm goes off at four thirty on weekends.”
“And on weekdays?”
I grin wider. “Four.”
“Oh, Ian . . .”
“What? I’ve got a lot of shit to get done before the market opens.”
“I would have thought you don’t get home until four.”