Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
I do my best to remain perfectly still, but despite my efforts, my nostrils flare and I really need to fucking swallow.
His hand leaves my jaw, caresses my boob, and then glides down until it’s to my knee where he grips behind it and lifts, so it’s cocked.
“Gonna push me away? Tell me not to?” He cups my ass.
I say nothing. I stare at him, trying to be stoic, unemotional, which is difficult. Not only because of the physicality here, but also because of the nerves he’s just struck with his talk of kids and pancakes and lazy Saturday mornings.
His fingertips slip inside my underwear and move until they slide straight through the heart of me.
Damn biology, he’s found me wet. Again.
Eyes sparkling with mischief, Derek asks, “Not gonna fight?”
I shrug, doing my best to give him an ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude.
“But I want you to fight me, baby. Because you come so much harder when I overpower you. Don’t you?” He chuckles devilishly.
Smug bastard.
I keep my expression frozen somehow.
But then his hand snakes up and the zipper of my dress is pulled down. He pulls the dress up over my head and tosses it before he fiddles down below and abruptly yanks the fabric of my underwear to the side and slams forward, filling me past the brink, making me react involuntarily both audibly with a grunt and physically as my lower back leaves the mattress and I grab him by the hair.
One of his hands grips the length of my hair, too, and he devours my mouth in an aggressive kiss. He pulls his hips back before slamming forward again. Harder. And I grip his hair tighter as I arch into it, cross heels clamped just beneath his backside.
He pulls out, grabs my ankles and gets my legs up so my ankles are at his shoulders. He tears my underwear up and off before he plunges back inside, caressing my legs, slipping his right hand across my hip to get his thumb to my clit.
One leg is pushed wider to accommodate Derek’s hot mouth, which closes around my nipple over top of my lace bra, sending vibrations throttling their way through me. I’m feeling it from multiple sensation points as he keeps moving, keeps circling, continues suckling.
While lost in sensation, my focus hones in on the detail of the ceiling of the bedroom in a house I spent a lot of time dreaming about, obsessing over. I gave up on this dream. I gave up pieces of myself for Adam.
I’m not materialistic, but Derek buying this for me for the reasons he detailed has my brain playing hopscotch. Because I’m dropping a rock on the sections of my brain that I don’t want to land on right now because those sections are pro-Derek. And I’m telling myself those parts of my mind have got to be slipping into insanity because everything he’s done, and all his convoluted logic is too dangerous to get caught up in.
Because I shouldn’t be okay with any of his deceit and manipulations, and I absolutely should not be forgiving with the threats of harming people I care about. And giving him any more than this – any more than what I have no choice but to give him – is me letting the ends justify the means. And the means are so very wrong.
“You’re such a wet, quivering bundle of sexuality, you know that?” he says into my ear. “You feel so fucking good. The feel of this sweet, tight pussy, the sounds you make drive me wild. The taste of your tongue? I could spend all my time fucking you, baby. Fuck you any way you want me to as much as you want me to. You hear that? You don’t have to go without. Only I can make you feel like this, beautiful Chloe. I know what you want. I know how to fuck you properly. And you love every fucking minute of it. Don’t you?”
“Shut up,” I spit as I claw his back with both hands.
His mouth is on mine again and anger overtakes logic for me as I sink into sensation.
I let him take me into the eye of the tornado with him. Giving him my tongue. Clenching my inner muscles around him.
He groans. I clench harder. He rotates his hips. I tighten my legs, dig my nails in. His pace picks up even faster, even harder, and he’s panting. Panting hard, licking my throat, biting my earlobe, pinching my nipple, swallowing my cries. Doing all of this while pumping, pistoning, driving forward in delicious, powerful strokes.
“Fuck, you’re my good girl, you know that?” he asks huskily.
I’m angry. Angry that he’s crazy. Angry that he’s done so many things that I shouldn’t forgive him for. Maybe also a little mad that he’s this fucked up because it means I can’t have any of the things he’s promising me. And maybe some of them sound really, really good.