Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
The pressure of his lips as he deepened the kiss; the way his fingertips slipped upward so they could slide into my hair at the nape of my neck; the feel of his hard body against my softer one; the sound and vibration of a low, primal growl as it moved through his chest and into my own.
This was all there was in the world
The feelings.
The rightness of them.
The odd mix of calmness and exhilaration that overtook me simultaneously, mingling with the desire that was like a live wire through my body, creating a heady combination that there was no word that I was aware of that could do it justice.
His tongue moved inside to claim mine, drawing a throaty moan from me as a shiver coursed through my body, making his fingers tighten on my skin.
When his hands sought the hem of my shirt, my arms went up, my lips pulled away, allowing him to slowly drag the material up, exposing my skin inch by inch to the hunger already in his eyes.
Once it was discarded to the floor, my greedy hands yanked at his too, a bit more clumsily than his had, a bit too frantic to be smooth or even sexy, just needy, just desperate to feel his skin on my skin, to get what we had both been craving almost since we met.
My hands were on his chest even while he was still tossing the shirt to the floor, fingers tracing over the tattoos there, wondering fleetingly if they had significance, personal meaning to him, wishing I could know what that was if they did.
My fingertip teased tentatively over one of the raised, puckered bullet holes in his chest, a moment of kinship coursing through me, knowing that there weren't many people who knew the feel of an enemy's hatred boring holes into their skin, knew the fear of wondering if you could make it.
From such different worlds, we somehow had a lot in common.
"Ancient history," Gunner's voice rumbled when, I imagined, my eyes started to convey some of what I was feeling.
With a small nod, my hand moved over the strong muscles of his chest, then shoulders, fascinated by the way they seemed to tense under my fingers.
His hands couldn't stay still any more either, drifting up my spine to find the clasps of my bra, unfastening them with a practiced ease, fingers sliding up to snag the straps, sliding them down my shoulders, then arms, until they drifted off my wrists and hands, discarded to the side of the couch.
"Fuck," he growled as his fingers shivered up my sides to cup my breasts, small in general, smaller they seemed in his giant palms, the skin a bit rough and calloused as it claimed the soft, sensitive swells.
My hips ground down on him in response, feeling the hard outline of his cock straining against the confines of his jeans, pressing where I needed it most, making my head fall backward on a moan.
His fingers squeezed and rolled the hardened points before his fingers planted at the sides, dragging me up and forward so his lips could close around one.
Needy, beyond reason, my hips started to move across his hardness, stoking my desire, promising an end to the torment of unfulfilled desire churning in my core.
His head shifted, claiming the other nipple for a moment before his lips claimed mine again, took everything I offered, demanded more, until I was whimpering against them, mindlessly begging for more.
His hands slid down my back to sink into my butt, grabbing hard as he moved to take his feet, holding me against him as he moved through my small apartment toward the bedroom.
It was the least decorated of the rooms, just an ugly overhead light, a closet, and the bed we had needed to settle for because it was all the store had in stock - a metal frame with no head or footboards. But the mattress was a thick memory foam and comfortable. The bedding set was a pink champagne color that Gunner had scoffed at, but I thought was really sweet and simple.
He turned as he got to the edge, slowly folding forward, lowering me back onto the mattress with the utmost care, like I could shatter if he didn't.
It didn't seem like a man as strong as him could be so soft, but he could. And it made my insides liquify.
He pulled slightly against my hold, demanding a little space, allowing his body to slide so his lips could press into my neck, moving downward slowly, infuriatingly slowly, teasing down the center of my chest, my belly.
He shifted once he reached my navel, his lips pressing gently down on the center of my raw, ugly scar, somehow softening my feeling toward it in such a sweet gesture.