Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“Are you vying for a National Geographic career?” Salty sweat leaked into my mouth. The wet air drenched my whole body from head to toe. This no longer felt like the glamorous confrontation I’d expected it to be. “What does any of this have to do with anything?”
“You seem fiercely loyal.” He hitched a shoulder up. “I once knew a man like that.”
I refused to let him butter me up. Especially since this marked the first time we’d spoken to each other since he saw me masturbating.
I shook my head. “I’m so angry with you.”
“Don’t be.”
“Why?”
His nostrils flared. “Because.”
“That’s not an answer, Zach.”
“Because…” He slapped the side of the bench, breathing fire. “The only reason I didn’t show up was because you’re a temptation.”
The heavy pants ripping out of his chest made his pecs move up and down. He was gloriously gorgeous. Lickable from head to toe.
And we were all alone.
His confession filled me with satisfaction.
“You find me attractive?” I asked, even though I felt about as desirable as a soiled napkin while sweating my body weight through my clothes.
He flicked lint off the towel secured around his waist. “You know I do.”
“You sure have a funny way of showing it.”
His lips pursed. “It’s… hard.”
“Hmm.” I tapped my pout with my finger. “That’s how it’s usually supposed to be, sweetie. Unless you need Viagra.”
“I’m not talking about it.” His eyes slid down to the towel. It was growing beneath it, the ridge of his thick, long cock pressing against the pristine white fabric. “I’m talking about all of it. Touching. Letting go. Changing. It’s one thing to try and succeed. But if I fail…” He swore, rubbing his jaw. “If I fail, it’s a nail in the coffin. The final confirmation I need to fully accept that I can never have any trace of something human to enjoy.”
“Zach—” My voice cracked.
“I live the life of an immortal. Nothing means anything to me, Farrow. Not living. Not dying. Not eating. Not drinking. Not laughing. I have no range of emotions for the simple reason that I possess no such thing. You are the only person I have ever come across that I want to touch. So, if this doesn’t work—”
“It will work,” I cut him off, heart pumping so fast, my chest could cave at any second.
I wanted to help him. Not only because the tingling between my legs had become unbearable every time we were in the same room, but because I wanted the man who protected me to live.
To experience normalcy. Pleasure. Orgasms.
I pulled my shoulders back, staring him right in the eyes. “I will make sure it works.”
He wet his lips, obvious wariness lurking within his pupils… but also laced with something else.
Curiosity?
Suddenly, the walls of the tiny, scorching room felt like they were inching together, closing in on us.
I decided to take action.
With one smooth move, I grabbed the hem of my shirt and yanked it off, dumping it on the wooden planks.
Zach didn’t respond, save for the bob in his throat that told me he was paying close attention. My heart galloped in my chest.
A drop of sweat rolled between my breasts and beneath my bra, journeying down to my belly button and disappearing inside it.
He watched its descent with hungry eyes. I took a step toward him, releasing my hair from the clip holding it together.
Zach tilted his head up and watched in fascination.
“Tell me something interesting about yourself.” I unbuttoned the first button of my jeans, stripping for him. “Distract yourself while you let your body react to this.”
“I…” he started, then stopped.
I loosened another button on my jeans.
Then another.
“You what?”
Was that throaty voice even mine?
I didn’t recognize it.
I pulled my jeans down in one go and kicked them to the side. They tangled with my shirt. I was sure my white cotton panties were see-through with how wet they were.
Zach wore vulnerability like a bespoke suit, somehow complementing his high cheekbones and sharp jaw.
“I’m a virgin,” he admitted, his eyes searching mine.
For mockery.
For confusion.
For pity.
He found none of those things.
Because the truth was… all I felt was pain for him. Pain and a pang of possessiveness that rattled me.
I had no right to feel it. I’d told myself I wouldn’t get attached. But I couldn’t help it. He looked like a boy in that moment, not one of the richest, most attractive men on the planet.
I am going to take his virginity.
I am going to have something no one else has ever had—Zachary Sun.
I inched toward him, unclipping my bra behind my back with one hand. “That’s not something you should be ashamed of.”
He released a bitter chuckle. “I’m a thirty-three-year-old virgin.”
“You’re a man with a traumatic past that makes it hard to touch or feel,” I countered, guessing but also certain.
He never spoke of it in interviews, but I’d run across articles describing his father’s gruesome death—and the condition firefighters had found Zach in.