Coerced Queen (New York Underworld #3) Read Online Charmaine Pauls

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Crime, Dark, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: New York Underworld Series by Charmaine Pauls
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Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
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I want to object, but when he starts fucking me with the five hundred-dollar bottle of champagne, my objections turn into unintelligible garble. The angle at which he holds the bottle ensures that what’s left of the liquor runs out. Coldness bathes me inside, but it’s nothing compared to the heat that’s spreading through my lower body.

He discards the bottle and pins both my knees to my chest while burying his head between my legs. The heat of his tongue is a shocking contrast to the iciness inside. He does what he promised, drinking me dry while torturing my clit with nips and sucks until my toes curl.

“I’m…” I start, but I can’t get out another word.

My pleasure spikes hot and fast, coiling around me until I can’t breathe.

Having already stretched me, he’s not careful when he finally gives me what I want. He drives his cock into the sticky mess he made, slamming home with a single thrust. I think he may break me in two. He pushes down on my knees, keeping them wide so that my pussy is spread open for him to pummel. Pounding into me, he makes every thrust count.

He’s never taken me harder or in a more depraved manner, and I love it. Like that time when he pushed my boundaries by fucking me in a public toilet, stamping his ownership onto me in this dirty manner makes me feel depraved and daring in a liberating way.

Letting go of my legs, he wraps a hand around my neck and pins me to the wooden surface, making sure I can’t escape what’s to follow—the final mark he’ll leave on my body. I brace my feet on the edge of the desk, drawing in what little air he allows me as he fucks me as if both our lives depend on it while using the heel of the palm of his free hand to rub my clit.

I come so hard my vision fades. His face blurs in front of me. He holds me down and pumps until he’s empty and I’m full. Only then does he move his hand from my neck to my jaw, slipping two fingers into my mouth.

I taste myself and champagne on those fingers he had inside me not so long ago. Like a good girl, an obedient toy, I suck them clean.

We’re both breathing hard. He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes. Wrapping my arms around him, I hold him close. I don’t care that I’m soaking his hoodie in the sticky alcohol on my chest.

When I breathe more or less normally again, he pushes onto his arms, caging me in between them on the table.

His smile is wolfish. “I made a mess of you.”

Brushing the hair back from his forehead, I say, “I made one of you too.”

The words recall the night of our engagement party in this very club when Rachele told me Saverio couldn’t have children. It makes me sad for him all over again.

“We better clean up,” he says, straightening and pulling out. “Unless you’re happy to do the walk of shame.”

“No walk of shame.”

“Understood.”

He grabs some tissues from the desk and cleans himself before adjusting his clothes. When I close my legs, he cups my knees and pushes them open again.

“I want to watch,” he says in a dark, silky voice.

My cheeks heat when wetness gushes out of me, soiling my thighs and the desk beneath me.

“So pretty,” he muses, studying the spot between my legs. “Champagne and cum look good on you.”

I give him a playful kick in the gut, resting my foot on his stomach. “You’re crude. The least you can do is offer a lady a hand.”

He chuckles. “Stay, my love. I’ll take care of you.”

There it is again. That silly term of endearment.

He grabs more tissues and cleans me a little too thoroughly, prodding and poking to make sure he didn’t hurt me.

When he’s satisfied, he lifts me to my feet and hands me my dress. I pull it on and turn my back so that he can close the zipper.

He turns me to face him and combs his fingers through my hair. “You have beautiful hair. I hope you never cut it.” He drags me closer and presses me against his chest. “You’re not only an amazing mother and a worthy wife, Anya. You’re a fucking queen.” He tightens his hold, making it difficult to breathe. “You’re every bit the queen all of us need.” He pulls away to look at me. “And people need their queen more than they need their king, so don’t ever risk your life like that again. If you do, I’ll tie you up, and you’ll spend your hours on your hands and knees alternating between being hand-fed and fucked by me.”

He softens the threat with a kiss on my lips, but I have no doubt he means each word.


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