Title: Until I'm Yours
Series: The Bennett Series Bk #4
Author: Kennedy Ryan
Release Date: February, 2, 2016

The world knows her face . . .
Mean girl. Goddess. Bitch. Supermodel Sofie Baston has earned those labels . . . yet they don't scratch the surface of who she really is. Before she can follow her own dreams, Sophie must do her daughterly duty and reel in a "fish" for her father's business-a tall, brown-eyed entrepreneur who immediately hooks her. He's a big guy with an even bigger heart . . . but will that heart be open to Sofie once her darkest secret is revealed?
. . . but only one man knows her heart
To Trevor Bishop, Sofie is a beautiful mystery he would gladly spend his life solving. He figures her tough demeanor is armor against a world that's hurt her too many times. Then Sofie's deepest wounds are reopened by the powerful, ruthless man who made them. When she musters the courage to take him down, her world shatters. Now Trevor is determined to help Sofie pick up the pieces so they can build a future together. The challenge will be convincing his ice princess that it's safe to melt in his arms . . .

As soon as I step into my apartment, I know something’s off. The air feels charged somehow, not like the desolate box I left this morning that only I’ve been inside of for the last few days. And the smell permeating the apartment – heavenly. I would assume I’d left something in the oven, except I don’t cook – ever. Should I call what’s his name back?

Fool that I am, instead of fleeing the scene of a potential homicide – my own – I walk as quietly as I can down the hall toward the kitchen. It’s bright in there for an ax murderer, and most psychopaths in my limited experience don’t hum Benny And the Jets while sautéing dinner. As soon as I enter the kitchen, a well-muscled back and broad shoulders block whatever is cooking on the stovetop. Even though my potential perpetrator faces away from me, I’d know that burnished hair, the wide, hard slope of those shoulders, and that ass anywhere.

“Bishop?” I’m scared to say his name aloud in case he’s some fevered hallucination the sound of my voice would dispel.

But he turns, a wide smile on those full lips, and opens his arms for me. That’s the only invitation I need. I drop my purse and am across the kitchen practically before it hits the floor. His arms are the sanctuary I’ve needed. Standing here in this circle of comfort, completely enclosed by his scent and his warmth, I feel safe for the first time since he boarded that plane last week.

“You’re here.” I whisper into his neck. “I thought…you aren’t due back for another few days.”

“This is true.” The deep timber of his voice rolls through me like a tremor. He pulls back to cup my face in his hands, and search my eyes. “I wrapped things up early.”

Whatever. Couldn’t care less. He could tell me South Africa floated into the wild blue yonder and he paddled all the way to New York on a piece of driftwood. I wouldn’t ask any questions. All that matters is that he’s here. My fingers wind into his hair, pulling him down and close enough to kiss. We skip slow, sweet kisses and cannon straight to desperate, our groans and panting the only sounds in the kitchen while we devour each other. I can’t stretch my mouth wide enough. Can’t touch enough of him at one time. I need more hands, more nerve endings to absorb this thrill, these sensations.

Trevor hoists me up, and my legs wrap around his waist. He reaches behind him to turn off the food and walks down the hall and toward my bedroom. It’s too far. I can’t wait. I’m too empty. I need him to fill me right here, right now.

“Now, Bishop,” I say against his lips. “Fuck me against the wall. I want…please. Right now.”

Wordlessly, he turns me against the wall. I lock my legs around him tighter while he undoes his belt buckle. The sound of his zipper sliding open has me dripping, has my chest heaving with anticipation. He leans in, taking my mouth captive and then sliding his tongue down my neck.

“Your breasts,” he mutters into the silk collar of my blouse “I want to see them.”

I brace one hand against his shoulder while the other scrambles to loosen the buttons on my blouse, baring the almost transparent bra. My nipples are so swollen from the thought of him, they press painfully against the sheer cups. I tug one satiny shell down to expose my breast. His eyes eat at my naked skin, and his hands slip beneath my arms, lifting me until my breasts are right at his mouth. His lips take my nipple, suckling me, the sound wet and erotic in the silent apartment. Every pull and tug churns the want in my belly, from my core, through my heart until every part of me is electrified with need.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” His words singe the delicate skin around my nipple.

I nod my head frantically, so hollow, so aching and empty waiting for him.

He pulls away to look at me, desire zip lining between our eyes.

“Check and make sure.” He glances at the space where our bodies interlock, the juncture of my thighs, and then raises his stare back up to sear me.

My eyes never leaving his, I slide my hand beneath my skirt and into my panties, rubbing my fingers into the wet flesh there.

“Show me,” he says, eyes almost black, his voice a husky rasp.

I just can't write about myself in third person for one more bio! I'm a wife, a mom, a writer, an advocate for families living with autism. That's me in a nutshell. Crack the nut, and you'll find a Southern girl gone Southern California who loves pizza and Diet Coke, and wishes she got to watch a lot more television. You can usually catch me up too late, on social media too much, or FINALLY putting a dent in my ever-growing To Be Read list!


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