Total pages in book: 174
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
And he groans, his mouth still stuck to mine.
I hug him tight then. Tighter than ever.
Because I know he’s coming.
I know he’s coming inside his wallflower.
I open my eyes to an empty, dark-ish room.
At first I panic.
Not because I don’t know where I am — I definitely know where I am and what just happened — but because of what time it is.
On the drive over, I told Conrad that I’d have to get back to my house at the end of the night so my parents don’t figure out my absence. He never said anything about it though. Only clenched his jaw and flexed his fingers on the wheel.
So I’m worried that I’m late and everything is going to fall apart now. Barely two seconds after everything has begun.
But when I glance at the blinking clock on the nightstand, it says that it’s only 2 AM and I sigh.
Before I focus on the next problem.
Where is Conrad?
Because I know he fell asleep with me.
I remember that once we were done, he withdrew himself. Went to the bathroom to freshen up — still naked; I specifically remember seeing his gorgeous back rippling, his extremely tight and muscled ass bunching as he walked — and brought me a hot towel. He cleaned me between the thighs even though I told him that I could do it myself. His reaction was to snap his eyes up and keep holding my thighs open with his possessive hands and growl, “You’re mine.”
That’s it.
I took it to mean: you’re mine to take care of and clean up.
So I let it be.
And then I remember that after the clean-up was done, he pulled up his jeans with his back to me — I definitely stared at his ass then — went inside his bathroom again and brought back a bottle of pills. He gave me one along with water and when I asked why, he simply said, “For the pain.”
I wanted to argue because there was literally no pain. But the look on his face was super determined so I took that too.
And then he came to bed at last.
He gathered me in his arms without a word, pulled a blanket over us and made me fall asleep on his chest. He wouldn’t even loosen his arm from around me — again something I remember specifically — because it made me smile and rub my nose on his bare chest.
After that is now.
I don’t know when he woke up and left the bed.
So I pull my naked body up, push aside the blanket and climb down. Or try to. Because when I swing my legs over to the floor, I wince.
Yikes.
My body is all sore. My breasts feel heavy and my nipples throb with a dull ache. But my thighs… they are in actual pain. Not to mention, there’s some major soreness in the place between them.
I squirm in the bed to test things out and yeah, I wince again.
I guess Conrad was right then.
As always, he knew what I needed.
Which makes me smile slightly, even through the pain, and more determined to go find him.
So I carefully get myself out of bed and pad around it, wincing here and there. But by the time I search for my dress, which is strangely nowhere to be found, I’m okay to walk. I do find his sweater though, lying on the floor where he so sexily discarded it. So I wear that and go in search of him.
The house is quiet and the hallway is dimly lit. There’s light coming from the kitchen and the living room, but I turn in the direction of a door that’s open down at the end of the hallway. I’m assuming that’s the backyard and I’m right.
It is and that’s where I find him.
Playing soccer.
Or rather, just kicking the ball into the net.
He has tons of them, lying at his feet, spilling out of a netted sack, and he’s kicking them one by one.
As I step out and go over to the railing to watch him closely, I realize that he’s kicking them in a way that hits the net at different spots.
First he stares at it, the net, as he spins the ball between his two hands, before bending down and putting it in front of him. Then he goes back a few steps before jogging forward and striking the ball, which goes flying and hits the net where he wants it to. Sometimes it’s dead center; sometimes it’s on the left or on the right. And sometimes he hits the pole on top and when that happens, the ball comes bouncing back and he kicks it again. And again it tears through the air and hits the net.
It’s breathtaking.
The way he plays. The way his body moves and ripples under his gray t-shirt, which he must’ve put on when he woke up.