Chapters (47)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Author's Note
- · PLAYLIST ·
- · ONE ·
- · TWO ·
- · THREE ·
- · FOUR ·
- · FIVE ·
- · SIX ·
- · SEVEN ·
- · EIGHT ·
- · NINE ·
- · TEN ·
- · ELEVEN ·
- · TWELVE ·
- · THIRTEEN ·
- · FOURTEEN ·
- · FIFTEEN ·
- · SIXTEEN ·
- · SEVENTEEN ·
- · EIGHTEEN ·
- · NINETEEN ·
- · TWENTY ·
- · TWENTY-ONE ·
- · TWENTY-TWO ·
- · TWENTY-THREE ·
- · TWENTY-FOUR ·
- · TWENTY-FIVE ·
- · TWENTY-SIX ·
- · TWENTY-SEVEN ·
- · TWENTY-EIGHT ·
- · TWENTY-NINE ·
- · THIRTY ·
- · THIRTY-ONE ·
- · THIRTY-TWO ·
- · THIRTY-THREE ·
- · THIRTY-FOUR ·
- · THIRTY-FIVE ·
- · THIRTY-SIX ·
- · THIRTY-SEVEN ·
- · ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ·
- · DISCUSSION QUESTIONS ·
- Kate
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
It’s too tempting to silence her mouth with a kiss as she walks backward down the hallway, my hands on her face, her hair, her waist. But when we get to the threshold of her room, I let go. Bea frowns. Realization slowly seeps into her expression. “Not this again.”
“Afraid so.”
She whines and slumps against her open door. “Jamie, whyyyy? I don’t need candlelight or rose petals or body chocolate—”
“Body chocolate?”
She shrugs. “It’s a sexy-times thing. That I don’t need.” Pushing off the door, she sinks her hands into my shirt and tugs me close. “I need you.” Her touch travels my waist, then drifts lower, lower—
“Whoa, now.” I clasp her hands, then bring them together between us, kissing her knuckles softly.
Bea whimpers. “Jamie. I’m going to die of sexual deprivation.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to die a dozen little deaths tomorrow night when I have all the time I need and you deserve.”
Her mouth falls open. “Back it up. How am I dying—”
I laugh quietly, kissing her, a soft flick of tongue that makes her sigh before I kiss a path along her jaw to the shell of her ear. “You said you wanted to hear me speak French?”
She nods, exposing her throat for more kisses.
I kiss her neck, behind her ear, then whisper, “En français, quand tu jouis, ça s’appelle la petite mort.”
“T-translation, please,” she rasps, as I run my knuckles faintly along her ribs, making her belly jump, her breath catch.
“I said, ‘In French, when you come, it’s called the little death.’ ”
She pulls back. Her eyes widen. “A dozen, you said?”
I grin as she throws her arms around my neck, wide-eyed, enthralled. “If all goes to plan.”
“Let’s make sure it does,” she says against my lips, stealing a kiss. “What’s the plan, by the way?”
A laugh rumbles in my throat. “You’ll sleep in today.”
She pouts. “Without you.”
“I’ll sleep in, too.”
Her pout deepens. “Without me.”
I console her with a kiss. “And then, you’ll be ready at five sharp for me to meet you right here.”
She smiles. “Go on.”
“You’ll pack an overnight bag.”
“Oooh, now we’re talking.”
“And anything you need to sleep well in my bed.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “What if I said I don’t plan on much sleeping?”
I kiss her one more time and make it last. “I’d say I’m very glad to hear it.”