Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Now, I don’t know what this is, but I know how it feels.
Like home.
I gasp when his hands slide beneath the hem of my shirt, palms warm and steady as they skim up my rib cage. My breath catches when his fingers reach my bra, easing under the cup until they find my nipple.
I suck in a breath at the contact—sharp, immediate—and Reid groans softly in response, his hips shifting just enough that his hard length pushes against me.
God. “Please don’t stop,” I plead without shame.
“Not going to,” he murmurs, and euphoria hits me hard.
Heat rolls through me, pooling low in my belly, and my body arches into him before I can stop it. I’m shocked at my own hunger—how fast and desperate this need has returned. But there’s no hesitation in him, no fumbling or second-guessing. Just Reid, exactly as I remember—certain and present and in full control of his body and mine.
When he kisses down my neck, teeth grazing lightly over my skin, I let out a low sound I don’t recognize. My knees go weak. My fingers dig into his shoulders, and I whisper his name like it’s the only thing I can manage.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes search mine—checking in, making sure.
I nod, breathless. “Yes. I want this. I want you.”
Reid doesn’t smile, but something in his face softens, and then he kisses me again—deeper this time. Slower. Like we have nowhere to be but here, like this moment is enough.
His hands drop to the button of my jeans and I help him—fumbling between us, eager and flushed. When his fingers slide past the waistband of my underwear to touch me, I gasp and press my forehead into his shoulder. He strokes me gently, then firmer, finding a rhythm that sends sparks up and down my spine.
I cling to him, already close, already spiraling.
But before I can fall over the edge, he pulls his hand away.
I whimper, the loss almost painful, but then he lifts me into his arms like I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist, gripping his shoulders for balance as he walks us through the suite.
“Which one?” he murmurs, his voice rough and low.
I nod toward the bedroom he’s been sleeping in. “Right.”
He nudges the door open with his foot and carries me to the bed, setting me down gently on the duvet. When he steps back, I prop myself on my elbows and watch as he walks across the room to flip on the light.
Warm yellow floods the space, and for a moment he just stands there, taking me in.
Not with judgment. Not with regret.
With reverence.
He returns to the bed slowly, his gaze never leaving mine as he helps me undress. Every movement is careful, not rushed. He peels my jeans down, then my panties, and when I’m finally bare beneath him, his eyes darken.
He takes off his shirt, followed by the rest of his clothes. As I watch every inch of skin reveal itself, heat blooms in my chest, spreading outward. Not just desire, something deeper. Something safer.
When he stretches over me, his body fits perfectly between my thighs. He holds himself up on his elbows, staring down at me, and the weight of his gaze makes my breath catch again.
“I missed you,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer with words. He just kisses me, deep and sure.
And I stop thinking entirely.
Reid kisses me like he knows this moment matters—not just physically, but for everything that’s come before. For all the words we haven’t said and the years we spent tiptoeing along the edges of something we never gave ourselves permission to explore.
His hand trails down the center of my body, fingertips gliding across my stomach, then lower. When his fingers slip between my thighs again, it’s with confidence, care and no hesitation. My hips rise to meet his touch, a gasp slipping from my lips.
God, it’s been so long since I’ve felt like this. Since I’ve felt like me.
He strokes me slowly, learning every sound I make, every shiver and roll of my hips, until I’m trembling with need. He knows what he’s doing—always has—and he’s so attuned to my body, I forget how to think.
When I reach down and wrap my hand around him, he lets out a rough exhale against my neck. I stroke him slowly, savoring the weight and heat of him in my palm. The rhythm we find is instinctual, like no time has passed at all, like this has been waiting for us all along.
Our lips meet again—open-mouthed, breathless—and it’s messy and perfect and real.
I don’t even know how he gets the condom, but it’s on and all I know is he’s at my entrance, the heat of him poised and ready, and I hold my breath as he presses inside.