Blind Desire. A Novella. by Jennifer Crowfoot

Author:Jennifer Crowfoot
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: love, sex, love story, desire, lust, happy ever after, australia, jacob, willow

♥ ♥ ♥

FOUR

Jacob pushes open the door to his room and stands to the side. ‘After you,” he says in that yummy, raspy growl. Running my bottom lip through my teeth, I melt and my sex aches with the low wicked timbre of his voice, which is full of promises.

Dirty, dirty promises.

My stomach fluttering crazily, I walk inside, his scorching hand resting almost possessively on my lower back as he follows along behind me. I blink. After the brightly lit room we’ve come from, in here is like a cave. The only light source comes from outside. I watch the sheer curtains tremble with a cheeky sea breeze, each gentle flutter inward, allowing the quicksilver beams of moonlight to dip into the room.

In such low light, my eyes take a moment to adjust and when they do I scan them around the room, taking in my new surroundings.

Before I can get a really good look, he spins us around and pushes me backwards against the door, which clicks shut with our combined weight pressing on it.

Oh fuck yes, wall sexing time.

His hand lands on my shoulder and with his fingertips, he follows the line of my throat, up to my jaw and around to my nape. My legs wobble with the overload of sensations assaulting my body, and I moan under my breath as his fingers trace patterns on the warm skin on the back of my neck.

“You put your hair up? I much prefer it down around your shoulders,” he croons in my ear, his breath hot. “A man’s gotta have something to wrap his hand in and tug on.” His hand runs up the back of my head, until his fingers find the messy bun in my hair. Grabbing the band, he tugs it off and drops it, before raking his fingers through my hair, shaking it out of the looped tangle, low hums of pleasure rumbling up from his chest.

He steps back half a step and his breathing is ragged, heavy, as the hand not tangled in my hair, motions behind him in quick stabby movements, suspiciously like the moves I’ve seen air stewards use on their pre-take-off what-to-do-in-an-emergency instructional demonstrations — except Jacob’s is waaaay sexier.

In a low, deep rasp, he announces, “Over through those doors —” I don’t look, I can’t tear my eyes away from his heavy-lidded, scorching gaze, “— is my private patio overlooking the beach, with a pathway leading straight down to the sand.”

His hand whips around in the opposite direction, and his voice drops another octave — Holy. Fuck — “Through that doorway is the ensuite,” he leans in towards me, a look of hunger on his face as his hand shoots straight behind him, “and right. Over. There. Is the bed.”

He smiles, but it looks nothing like a human’s smile, it’s the fuck-you self-satisfied grin of a tiger, before it separates your lower limbs from the rest of your body. And then eats you.

I swallow, my mouth pooling with excess moisture.

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