Read Online Changing Beauty (Book 2) (The Deadly Beauties Live On) by C. M. Owens - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C. M. Owens
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sentence if my life depended on it. So, like an idiot without any cognitive functions, I just stare into those honey-colored eyes and wait for him to explain.
“My favorite part is that it’s only for me,” he murmurs, pressing into me again. “No one else evokes that scent from you but me. You have no idea what that does for me—what that does to me.”
The door slams shut, and he chuckles as someone on the other side curses. Shit. I forgot that it was open, and I forgot all about the fact that we’re not alone.
Thad grins as he starts tugging my shirt up, but I catch his hands as my eyes widen.
“Little too fast,” I say, gulping down air.
His hands stop, leaving my shirt lifted just above my navel, and he slides his hands down to my hips, making no effort to move off me as he lowers his lips to my neck.
“See?” he asks softly. “Sweet.”
Damn it. I’m not sweet!
“I just… I barely know you. I’m not some sweet , innocent girl, but I also don’t rush into something that intimate without knowing the person first.”
I feel his smile against my neck as he continues doing things with his lips and tongue that have me writhing underneath him and questioning my own morals.
“Then get to know me, Roslyn.”
It’s… a little… hard to think with him doing all… that .
“Right now?” I squeak.
His laughter rumbles around me as he nips at my neck, and his hands shift my legs farther apart for him to better settle against me, pushing his erection all the way against my core. When I suck in a breath, he pushes against me harder, as though he’s rewarding or torturing me—not sure which.
“Yeah,” he murmurs softly. “You can’t get to know me unless you start asking questions. What do you want to know?”
What do I want to know? It barely seems important at this moment, because my whole body is on fire and telling my mind to shut the hell up for a while.
“Um… how old are you?”
He moves his lips across my neck, directing his attention to the other side, and some stupid sound escapes me.
“Older than I look.” His answer is dry and vague, which does nothing to help me, but he finally says, “Twenty-three?”
Why does it sound like a question? Then again, I’m incredibly distracted. Besides, he looks about that age.
“Where… um… were you born?”
He pauses his kissing assault, and I don’t know whether to breathe in relief or demand that he continue.
“You need to know this stuff?” he asks, rising up with a wry grin on his perfect lips as he stares down at me with those honey eyes. “Because I expected more in-depth questions. But for your information, I was born in Ireland.”
Ireland? “You don’t have an accent,” I point out, questioning how honest he’s being. “And you don’t look Irish.”
He laughs at me. Again. I’m apparently a source of constant amusement.
“I trained myself to speak without it a long time ago. Besides, I didn’t live there for too long. And what exactly do Irish people look like?”
He pins me with a gaze that dares me to say something he can mock me for, so I bypass that question before I say something that is stereotyping and stupid. It’s probably good he doesn’t have that accent, since I doubt I’d be able to turn him down at all then.
“Why do you like me?” There’s an in-depth question that I need answered.
He studies me very intently for several long minutes, his gaze shifting from my mouth to my eyes a couple of times.
“I should probably say something cheesy and romantic right about now, like how I’ve never met any girl like you , but I’ve always been bigger on being honest when I could.”
That has my ego deflating quickly. Lying under him, feeling his desire wrapped around me, for some reason I was starting to feel a little special.
“What’s the honest reason?” I ask unsurely.
He brushes his lips against mine, tugging it between his teeth, and he grinds against me again. Before I know it,
“My favorite part is that it’s only for me,” he murmurs, pressing into me again. “No one else evokes that scent from you but me. You have no idea what that does for me—what that does to me.”
The door slams shut, and he chuckles as someone on the other side curses. Shit. I forgot that it was open, and I forgot all about the fact that we’re not alone.
Thad grins as he starts tugging my shirt up, but I catch his hands as my eyes widen.
“Little too fast,” I say, gulping down air.
His hands stop, leaving my shirt lifted just above my navel, and he slides his hands down to my hips, making no effort to move off me as he lowers his lips to my neck.
“See?” he asks softly. “Sweet.”
Damn it. I’m not sweet!
“I just… I barely know you. I’m not some sweet , innocent girl, but I also don’t rush into something that intimate without knowing the person first.”
I feel his smile against my neck as he continues doing things with his lips and tongue that have me writhing underneath him and questioning my own morals.
“Then get to know me, Roslyn.”
It’s… a little… hard to think with him doing all… that .
“Right now?” I squeak.
His laughter rumbles around me as he nips at my neck, and his hands shift my legs farther apart for him to better settle against me, pushing his erection all the way against my core. When I suck in a breath, he pushes against me harder, as though he’s rewarding or torturing me—not sure which.
“Yeah,” he murmurs softly. “You can’t get to know me unless you start asking questions. What do you want to know?”
What do I want to know? It barely seems important at this moment, because my whole body is on fire and telling my mind to shut the hell up for a while.
“Um… how old are you?”
He moves his lips across my neck, directing his attention to the other side, and some stupid sound escapes me.
“Older than I look.” His answer is dry and vague, which does nothing to help me, but he finally says, “Twenty-three?”
Why does it sound like a question? Then again, I’m incredibly distracted. Besides, he looks about that age.
“Where… um… were you born?”
He pauses his kissing assault, and I don’t know whether to breathe in relief or demand that he continue.
“You need to know this stuff?” he asks, rising up with a wry grin on his perfect lips as he stares down at me with those honey eyes. “Because I expected more in-depth questions. But for your information, I was born in Ireland.”
Ireland? “You don’t have an accent,” I point out, questioning how honest he’s being. “And you don’t look Irish.”
He laughs at me. Again. I’m apparently a source of constant amusement.
“I trained myself to speak without it a long time ago. Besides, I didn’t live there for too long. And what exactly do Irish people look like?”
He pins me with a gaze that dares me to say something he can mock me for, so I bypass that question before I say something that is stereotyping and stupid. It’s probably good he doesn’t have that accent, since I doubt I’d be able to turn him down at all then.
“Why do you like me?” There’s an in-depth question that I need answered.
He studies me very intently for several long minutes, his gaze shifting from my mouth to my eyes a couple of times.
“I should probably say something cheesy and romantic right about now, like how I’ve never met any girl like you , but I’ve always been bigger on being honest when I could.”
That has my ego deflating quickly. Lying under him, feeling his desire wrapped around me, for some reason I was starting to feel a little special.
“What’s the honest reason?” I ask unsurely.
He brushes his lips against mine, tugging it between his teeth, and he grinds against me again. Before I know it,
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