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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At this angle, the nozzles direct jets of water at my breasts. The flow is so strong I feel it all the way to my core. Worse, there’s one right between my legs.

“Sav,” I cry out when he slips his hands around my front and pries my folds open to expose my clit.

He shifts me a little to the left and one inch down. There. My body jerks as the jet hits me straight at the apex of my sex, the water blast so powerful that my muscles spasm. Instinctively, I try to escape, but he pins me to the side with his weight, making me take the full onslaught of the force.

I come even before I have time to process it, the pleasure so instantaneous, intense, and unexpected that my whole body bows. He pushes into me from behind while I’m locked in that vise of pleasure, impaling me with a single thrust as my orgasm ripples out into aftershocks and the pleasure already starts building again. The pressure of the water is so powerful it wrests another climax from my body not even five seconds after I came.

Now that he’s found the right spot, Saverio pulls his hands from the front of my body and wraps his fingers around my wrists where I’m clenching the sides and holding on for my life. The absence of his arms around my front forces me flat against the side. I take those blasts of water with no distance to soften the blow. He pumps into me as I come again.

“Hold on, tesoro,” he whispers in my ear, kissing the lobe before biting down gently.

My inner muscles clench around him. My breasts and clit are assaulted by those unrelenting spurts of water, and despite being oversensitive, I come again.

So does he. His body goes taut against mine. He punches his hips up, burying himself as deep as he can. Warmth bathes me inside. It’s different than the water, slicker.

And I come again.

I don’t know how many times I convulsively climax under the onslaught of the jets as he traps me against them with his body. I’m caught between the jets and the wall of his chest, impaled on his cock. There’s no escaping the continuous orgasms that roll from aftershocks into another climax and into aftershocks again. I’m a convulsing mass of one long, never-ending orgasm, wrecked by the cruel stimulation and forced to bear the relentless pleasure, but he’s come at least twice himself before his weight finally lifts off me.

If he didn’t catch me in his arms, I’m sure I would’ve drowned.

“What do you do to me?” he groans, kissing my neck.

His question is tormented. He sounds like a conflicted man begging me for answers. For understanding.

Leaning my head back against his chest, I say, “Nothing you don’t do to me too.”

“No, tesoro.” He drags his lips along my jaw before nuzzling my temple. “I only get hard for you.” His voice is deep and raspy. “What kind of spell is this? What kind of magic?”

“The simplest kind.”

“Yeah?” He cups a breast in one hand and my pussy in the other, brushing his thumbs over my nipple and my clit in leisurely strokes. “Tell me.”

I shiver from his soft touch. “We’re exclusive, remember? When you love someone, you don’t want anyone else to touch you. More than that, you detest another’s touch.”

Wrong thing to say. I can almost feel the ambience shatter. He stills with his hand between my legs and the other on my breast. It’s not what he wants to hear, but in our case, it’s the truth.

Gently, he untangles himself from me, putting distance between us. My entire being protests at the loss of our contact. I came so many times I’m sore inside, my muscles overworked and pushed to the limits of their endurance, yet I feel empty, as if each climax was meaningless. In the warmth of the water, my body goes cold.

Afraid of what I’ll see, I turn around. He’s schooled his features into an unreadable mask, scrubbing his palms over his face and wiping away any traces of emotion that may have lingered with the drops of water that cling to his skin. He’s just been inside me as deep as he could be, yet he’s already miles away from here. From me.

My voice threatens to crack, betraying me. “Saverio.”

His smile is thin. Mechanical. Impersonal. “Do you want to stay in longer?”

Afraid I’ll cry if I speak, I shake my head. The water is no longer soothing or relaxing. All that’s left is a big hole in my heart, a dark space that’s hopeless, cold, and lonely. I can’t meet his gaze. I’m too afraid I’ll humiliate myself if I can’t contain my tears. I don’t want him to see my vulnerability. I’m frightened that I might have been wrong, that I’m being that woman who makes excuses for her man. I’m terrified that it’s quite straightforward, that in reality, he simply doesn’t love me.


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