BooksBarbecue
Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

Both of us laughing, when I moved close enough to him, he yanked me down and rolled me onto my back. “I miss you. And my toe hurts. And I have to leave at 5 a.m. tomorrow so I make my early morning meeting. I don’t want to wake up that early. And I want someone to take care of me. And I’m not having sex with Paulina or DeeDee.” He laid his head down on my clavicle and tried to burrow in against my bone. It hurt a little. “I’m sorry you hate it here, but it could be worse. Em and Sawyer could be bitching and moaning as much as you are.”

I pinched his nipple.

He howled, and his hand darted between my legs, the move less sexual, more of an ambush tickle. I swatted his hand and he moved it and jabbed me in the side. “At least you have caterpillar friends. You’ve turned into Snow White, talking to the animals.”

Oh, how I loved this man who made me laugh, who made me not take myself so seriously.

Slowing down, breathing heavy, he slid his hand down my pants and parted me gently with the slow swipe of his finger.

His face went slack, his eyes blank. He rose onto his knees and unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants. “Heather Bishop you tell me what you need.” He yanked down my underwear with one rough tug. Pushed my knees open.

“I need to get out of this pissant town,” I said, eyes wide, and burst into laughter.

He pinched my thigh gently, jokingly, but to the point. He needed me. He needed me to unburden him of his stress, his exhaustion and disappointment. All these things weighing on him, he needed to bury them inside me. He pulled my shirt off, dipped down, and bit my nipple. It was a good hurt. He slipped his finger inside me, and I twitched against his hand and wrist. He slid out, teasing me.

“Heather,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “Tell me what I earned.”

Let me just say, I have never been a fan of dirty talk. Most guys got their sex ed from porn; they got so used to jacking off to bad sex lines, they got conditioned into using it.

Dirty talk was supposed to be the punch line of the conversation, the best part, but for me it actually pulled me out of the moment. If you mean to fuck me, skip the nonsense and fuck me. But, whatever, I’m a trooper.