Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
“But I’m nervous,” I admit, shivering. “What if I disappoint you?”
“Just be naked, be curvy, be you, Kimberly—and there’s no way you can disappoint me. Say it. Tell me you want to be fucked like a horny personal slut after I’ve made your cream like this.”
“I want to,” I gasp, shifting against him, grinding my breasts against his hands in the same rhythm that he massages me. “Oh, God. I want it so bad.”
“Good,” he growls, leaning in closer. Lust-filled breath dances hotly over me. “Now come, Kimberly. Fucking come.”
I didn’t think it was possible for him to rub my breasts even faster, but somehow he manages it.
It’s like spitting flames hissing against the neediness of them.
Freaking hell, it’s like my nipples have become clits.
My womb adds to the mounting euphoria, singing and celebrating.
Soon, soon, she cries inside of me, desperate for his seed, for a life with this man.
“Ah, ah, ah,” I cry, on the edge now, ready to tip over and collapse into a land of trembling release. “I’m—so—close.”
“Fucking cream.”
Suddenly, there’s a pounding at the door, a heavy thump-thump-thump that causes me to leap back in shock.
Kristian’s face twists in fury and then he spins away from me. The broad muscles of his back are tight with his outrage, huge bands of muscle stretching from shoulder to shoulder.
“I said no interruptions,” he roars swinging the door open.
“I’m sorry, sir,” a man’s voice mutters, pitched low. I recognize him as the butler who served our drinks earlier. “Your consigliere said it was absolutely necessary.”
Kris clenches and unclenches his fists, his pulse shimmering in his neck. My pussy is sore and tight with the anti-climax, so close to an orgasm part of me wants to jam my hand against it and rub, and shiver, and scream.
But I can’t, not with that man out there.
And it wouldn’t be the same doing it to myself.
I step forward, placing my hand on the solid mass of my man’s arm.
“It’s okay, Kris,” I tell him.
“It’s not,” he sighs. “But if Artie says it’s important, it normally is.”
He sighs again, glancing at me, his eyes flaring.
I read the message clearly. We’re picking this up right where we left off when I get back. And then I’m taking your virginity.
Part of me is glad for the reprieve, a chance to ready myself for what comes next.
Another part wants to scream at this man for interrupting us.
“What is it?” Kris says after a pause.
“I—uh—”
“Anything you can say in front of me,” Kris snarls, “you can say in front of my lady.”
“It’s Maury,” the man says. “He’s escaped.”
“Fuck,” Kris sighs, running a hand through his iron hair. “I have to go, Kimberly. I’m sorry. I can’t ignore this. I have to handle this myself.”
“Who’s Maury?” I ask, giving his shoulder a squeeze.
I have to fight the urge not to dig my fingernails in.
My nipples are still hard and tingling.
“The man who hid the drugs at the new builds—an old friend, an old enemy. I put him under guard so he could detox. He’s a drug addict. If he’s loose, there’s no telling what harm he could do. To himself, to others.”
“Go, then,” I urge him. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
He turns to me fully, his smirk twitching.
“What happened to honestly, always, eh?” he says, looping his arms around my waist.
I let out a shimmering breath of pleasure.
“Okay, I do mind,” I admit. “But I understand. You have your business. And it sounds like you care about this man.”
“Yeah,” Kris sighs. He leans forward and kisses me on the forehead, a warm shivering imprint of affection. “Maybe I did, once. But he’s starting to push his goddamn luck. It’s one thing to inject yourself up to your eyeballs. It’s another matter entirely to interrupt my time with my lady.”
Chapter Fourteen
Kristian
“Are you fucking shitting me?” Artie, my consigliere, says.
He’s standing at Maury’s bedroom window. The window’s thrown open, letting in the late-afternoon cacophony of the city.
Artie turns to me, his black hair shiny and slicked back. He’s a short man at around five-five, but he’s stocky and strong. He wears a loose-fitting suit, slightly wrinkled, and glasses perch on the end of his nose.
Looking at him, you’d never guess he could dismantle most men in a fistfight.
I glance around the bedroom, disgusted with the mess of it. The mattress is grimy and the wall is stained with cigarette smoke.
An ashtray overflows on a stained and dirty bedside table.
I turn back to Artie.
“So they weren’t lying?” I ask.
On the way over here – after leaving the yacht and Kimberly, one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do – I got word that Maury had made himself a makeshift rope out of sheets and clothes and climbed out of the window.
The lengths junkies will go for their next fix will never cease to amaze me.