One Week Girlfriend - By Monica Murphy Page 0,57

hard biceps, skimming over the dark hair that covers his forearms. He remains utterly still, but I can feel his hot eyes on me, devouring me as I intently search his flesh with my hands. I touch his chest, the tips of my index fingers gliding over his nipples simultaneously and he jumps a little, making me smile.

But my smile fades as I become enraptured with every bump and groove of his washboard stomach. I slow my search, let my hands completely map his abs and I feel his muscles quiver beneath my touch.

Lifting my head, I find him watching me, his brows raised, his mouth quirked in a half smile. This is by far the happiest I've seen him since the afternoon he took me to lunch and kissed me in a fairytale alley while it rained, with white lights twinkling all around us.

Without a word I press my lips to his, keeping my eyes open until his shutter closed and I find myself falling so easily under his spell. This kiss is hungrier, more urgent and I let him take the lead, revel in how he rests his big hand at the top of my chest before sliding it up to lightly touch my throat in a wholly possessive gesture that has me reeling.

That same hand slides back down, his fingers dipping beneath the loose strap of my bra, pushing it off my shoulder. He does the same to the other strap, magically removing the bra from me within seconds and my bare breasts are crushed to his chest, my nipples hard against the warmth of his skin.

"I want you," he whispers in my ear, sending shivers careening down my spine. "So bad it's killing me, Fable."

I love that he says my name in the same breath that he declares he wants me. Rather than become lost in the darkness or blinded by the past, he's here. With me now, touching me and kissing me, slowly grinding his erection against me. I'm completely absorbed by him, lost within him and there's no place I'd rather be.

He grabs hold of my waist and pushes me down onto the bed so I'm flat on my back, his hands pressed on either side of my head on the mattress as he leans over, his mouth never leaving mine. In this position, he's not as close as I want him, and I curl my legs around his hips, desperate to draw him near.

Breaking our kiss, he pulls away and slides down the length of my body, his hands at the waistband of my thin black leggings as he slowly, patiently tugs them down, taking my panties along with them. I'm trembling, my breaths are coming too fast and I stare up at the ceiling, biting the inside of my lip when his fingers brush against my thighs, my knees, my calves as he strips me. I feel his breath against the very center of me and I close my eyes, dizziness swamping me when I feel those large hands of his pushing my thighs apart.

He's studying me down there and I don't know what to think, what to say. He releases a ragged breath, his hands gripping my hips and then he's kissing my chest, running his lips all over my flesh until I feel his tongue lick first one nipple, then another.

I can't take it any longer. I'm not one to remain silent in bed, I never have been, not that I'm a total screamer. But his touch, his mouth on my skin feels so good, I arch into him and cry out. I'm on complete sensation overload, totally naked and exposed and I've never felt so cherished. So alive.

"You're beautiful," he whispers against my breasts as he worships them with his mouth. I sink my hand into his hair and hold him to me, writhing beneath his busy lips and tongue. I'm still baffled. Honestly, I don't quite know how we got to this point. I hated him on sight. I did this only for the money. I thought he was a fucked up mess. I still think he's a fucked up mess.

But so am I. And he's so beautiful, so thoughtful, so vulnerable. We can be a mess together. I want to heal him. I know I can heal him.

This joining of our bodies is the first step.

"Hold on," he murmurs. I open my eyes and his face is in mine. He steals a quick kiss and removes himself