Still Not Over You (Enguard Protectors #1) by Nicole Snow

Author:Nicole Snow [Snow, Nicole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 40801502
Publisher: Ice Lips Press
Published: 2018-07-18T23:00:00+00:00

I think I actually passed out.

I think Landon Strauss honest-to-God fucked me into blacking out.

That’s a first.

I’m only gone for a few seconds. I think.

Enough to miss him separating our bodies, which I probably couldn’t have handled anyway when I’m sensitive inside and out, a live wire waiting for a spark.

I come dimly awake as he lifts me into his arms. Through my half-closed eyes I think I see the spent condom falling forgotten under the picnic table bench, before I drift off again.

When my eyes open a second time, struggling, I can’t really see the used rubber anymore and think it must’ve been a dream.

Everything does, no surprise.

“Landon?” I mumble drowsily.

“Shhh,” he murmurs. Okay, and I’m definitely dreaming because that’s tenderness in his voice. “I’m just getting us settled. Sleep, Reb.”

“But...outside...”

He chuckles, a quiet thing that rolls through me, shaking his shoulders and my whole body where he holds me against his chest. It’s a warm sound, a comforting sound, and without even opening my eyes I snuggle against it, pillowing my head to his shoulder.

“Newsflash: people have been sleeping outside since caveman days,” he says gently. “We’ll be fine. It's beautiful out here tonight.”

He’s moving, then, and I manage to pry one tired eye open long enough to see he’s settling us down on one of the lounge chairs by the pool. Then warmth drapes over me as he snags a beach blanket from a stack folded on the patio table and wraps it around us both.

We settle into this dreamy warmth, comfortable against the reclining lounger. I should probably protest being curled up in his lap this way, but my sore, sated, deliciously tired body doesn’t want to move.

Spent is the word I always use after my fictional ladies get fucked into the next universe. Whatever I am right now, it doesn't seem powerful enough to describe how utterly drained I am.

“'Night, Landon.” I manage to slur, already sinking away again, fighting an expansive yawn.

Another chuckle. A kiss to the top of my head. “Sweet dreams, little Reb.”

I want to say something else, ask him what this means, but my head is heavy and my tongue is thick and his arms feel far too good.

Forget it. I don’t want to ask. Not now.

I just want to enjoy this strange, miraculous thing, and drift off to sleep in his arms.

I guess it really is as easy as it is in my books. I should have seen it coming.

Except I’d be lying.

Because there’s nothing easy or predictable about Landon Strauss at all.

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