Wrath (Sinful Secrets, #4)

by Ella James

I'm a sucker for a guy's hands. No one even knows, but I love the squared angles, the thick bones and wide-planed palms. One day, I'll hold a man's hand as we walk down a sidewalk.

I don't want to be a dick, but he's one, so I can't not.

I want to lie beside him on the slanted roof and pull him up against me. Why? Because I just...feel like he needs it.

Josh Miller is so easy. That's the thing I like. In a world of shit, from start to finish, he’s the one easy thing. A constant. The guy is a fucking Boy Scout. Like, for real.

I can’t move, can't even fucking breathe, as he rolls them, then drags his hand up my erection, pressing with his palm then gripping, his hand wrapped around me, moving slow and firm, back and forth. My eyes shut as pleasure grips me like a fucking vice, and then he pinches my cockhead so hard I see stars.

“You get off on a big, rough hand?”

“Fuck.” His lips twitch in a small smile. “You snuck up on me.”

And so it goes. Round and round, just like the world—we’re in a spiral and I’m not sure if it’s bad or good, or maybe neither.

“Whatchu smiling about, Millsy?”

“Nothing.”

“I got something on my face...

“Just a whole bunch of everything I’ve...

But I'm trying to tell myself that I don't need a whole-ass tether. I just need one rung at a time. I need something to grip onto for a second.