Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Stop,” I order.
She freezes, whimpering, and meets my eyes. I climb on the bed and part her knees, inhaling the seductive scent of her arousal, before I lower my face to her bare pussy and lazily drag my tongue between her folds.
“Oh my God,” she moans, squirming beneath the onslaught of my tongue, but just as she’s on the cusp, I pull away.
“Jesus, Tomas,” she whispers. “Oh, God, that’s so good. Why did you stop?”
I hold her gaze before I order. “Beg.”
Swallowing, she nods. I’m an asshole for taking advantage of her. She’s on the verge of climax and plastered, but it’s broken down walls that nothing else would. But the look she gives me is completely sober.
“Please.”
I look at her in surprise. I wasn’t expecting this. I thought she’d fight me.
I don’t want to make her ask twice. I need to do this. I need to do this now.
I roll on a condom while I brace myself above her and my conscious plagues me. She’ll be sober in the morning, and I don’t want her anger and regret.
I line the head of my cock at her entrance and hold her eyes with mine.
“Are you sure?”
Taking in a deep breath, she nods. “I’m sure.”
“Hands above your head,” I command quietly, holding her gaze as she moves to obey.
“Yes, sir.” She knows I need this now, her submission empowering me to claim her the way I need to.
“Good girl. Keep them there,” I order. “Do not move them.”
She only nods, swallowing and licking her lips. If eyes are a window to the soul, hers are a veritable well of passion I want to explore and study, until I know the meaning of the very tempo of her heart.
“You said you’ve done this before,” I say. I want to know everything. I need to know.
“Please don’t talk of that now,” she begs, her flirty eyes so serious something in me hurts for her. My natural instinct to protect rises.
“I won’t,” I promise, because she needs to know she can trust me. But I’ll also give her honesty, so I amend, “For now.”
I bend down to her and take her mouth with mine, tasting the sweet, tangy champagne, while I trap her wrists with my left hand and keep them pinned above her head. I move my mouth above hers, swallowing her gasp as I glide into her. Her whole body tenses beneath me and she whimpers, but I push through. I’m not hurting her. She feels so damn tight and perfect wrapped around me I need to hold myself back.
“Relax,” I tell her.
“I’m scared,” she whispers.
“Don’t be. I won’t hurt you.” Not this way, anyway, not when she’s lying beneath me, vulnerable and trembling.
She shakes her head, still pinned beneath me, her eyes filling with tears. “Do you promise?”
I nod once. “I promise.”
And it’s all she needs. Sighing, she sinks into this, melting into my touch, welcoming the rocking of my hips and the friction I build with firm, steady strokes.
“Mmm,” she groans, her eyes fluttering, hips swaying, breath growing ragged and eager. My own pleasure is building to a crescendo, and when she throws her head back in utter bliss, her sweet moans of pleasure echoing in the room, I chase my own bliss right behind her.
It’s finished.
She’s mine.
For one brief moment, I rest my forehead on hers. Our breath mingles, our bodies clasped in a lovers’ irrevocable bond. She’s my wife, now, fully.
Too soon, I roll over off of her and pull her onto my chest. The room is still save our steady breath, and I run my hand through her hair once, twice, three times. It’s soft, silky, fragrant, this moment so intimate I want to savor it. I’m not a sentimental man, but I know this moment is sacred.
It isn’t until I realize my chest is wet that I notice she’s crying.
“Caroline!” I say in surprise. “What is it? Are you okay?”
Christ, I hurt her. Did she lie to me? Was she a virgin?
She’s trying hard to keep back her tears, but she can’t seem to help it.
I wrap my arms around her and don’t say anything for a minute, but it kills me not to demand the truth. My patience quickly evaporates, though. I have to know. “Did I hurt you?”
She shakes her head and cries harder.
“I hate it,” she says. This woman is an enigma.
I take in a deep breath to give me much-needed patience.
“Tell me,” I press. “What do you hate? You need to give me the truth.”
She surprises me by doing just that, as if being wholly bared to me makes it easier to be honest.
“My brother’s friend,” she whispers. “The one who sent someone to take a picture? I hate sex because of him. Hate it. He… took advantage of me.”
My grip on her tightens. I’ll kill him. Slowly, painfully kill him, and not until he suffers first.