Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Yes,” I whimpered, hips wiggling, needing more of the feel of him. “Please,” I pleaded, rocking against him as my arms and legs wrapped him up tight. “Please,” I tried again.
Only then did his control snap.
Finally.
And completely.
He wasn’t slow or soft then.
He pulled out and slammed in. Hard. Fast. Deep.
And again.
And again.
My nails raked down his back as my hips met his thrusts, as my desire reacted to his lack of control, to his raw, untamed desire.
A shamelessly loud moan escaped me as I arched into him.
“You’re taking me so good,” he hissed, lips meeting my neck as he fucked me harder still. “There,” he hissed as my walls tightened around him, close. So close. “Fuck, baby, come for me,” he growled.
Then, like I’d been seeking his permission, I did.
The pleasure shot through me violently, overtaking me, as a cry escaped me, and my body shook.
A growl escaped Detroit at the feel of me clenching around him over and over.
He kept thrusting through it, giving me every last shock of pleasure my body had to offer.
Only after did he slow.
He didn’t come with me.
And he was still moving inside of me.
But softer, gentler, giving my body time to come down but still somehow reigniting the spark of desire as his lips claimed mine once again.
It wasn’t long before I felt somehow just as needy as before, my hips wiggling against him as he refused to move more quickly.
Impatiently, I threw my weight, catching him off guard and forcing him to roll onto his back as I moved over him.
I couldn’t claim it was often that I was bold enough to take control, to move on top without prompting.
I didn’t have a second of uncertainty, though, as I rose over him and started to move to the rhythm my body was aching for.
Harder.
Faster.
Detroit’s gaze was liquid fire as he looked at me riding him.
His hands were still at my hips for a moment before they started to move.
Teasing over my thighs, up my belly, then covering my breasts.
His fingers weren’t gentle then.
They matched my own desperation.
Squeezing, pinching.
Hard.
Creating a pleasure/pain sensation that had me riding him faster, had my head falling back, and my moans escaping me unbidden.
“Fuck,” Detroit groaned as his hand slipped down, slid between my thighs, and started to work my clit, getting me closer faster.
The orgasm caught me by surprise, shooting through my system like lightning, turning my bones to dust.
I fell forward into him, crying out into his chest.
His arm went around my hips, holding me as he started to thrust up into me, dragging out the pleasure until it was almost painful.
Then coming with me, choking out my name as his body convulsed with the pleasure.
I couldn’t tell you how long afterward I stayed exactly there, dead weight on his body, breathing fast and shallow, Detroit’s arm heavily draped across my hips.
I could tell you that it was Detroit who recovered first, rolling us onto our sides, and I felt this irrational disappointment as he slid out of me in the process.
But then his lips were on mine.
Soft and sweet.
Undemanding.
Because we were both spent.
So it wasn’t desire that bloomed.
It was something else.
Something far more lethal.
Something that started in my chest and spread outward until it overtook me completely.
I knew then that it wasn’t something new. It was something that had been building. While I’d been in the clubhouse, sure. And especially in his bed. But it had been longer even than that.
In those conversations in the gym, as brief as they might be sometimes. In the soft smiles he sent me. And the way his voice kind of always gave me little shivers. Especially when he was talking softly, just for my ears.
I was falling for him.
Had been for longer than I could have ever realized.
“I’ll be right back,” Detroit murmured against my lips.
I think I nodded.
But the second he slid away from me and out of the bed, I felt that sort of crushing heavy-heartedness at his absence.
“Oh, boy,” I murmured to myself when I was alone, rolling onto my back to look up at the ceiling.
I knew this was possible.
Even inevitable.
But it didn’t make it any less soul-crushing to know I could have this. For a short time. Then it would be gone.
He would be onto another woman.
Maybe even one of those club girls a floor below us.
I hated to admit this even to myself, but jealousy slithered through my system, wrapping around my throat until it felt like I was being choked by it as my traitorous mind flashed with images of him in bed with one of them, saying the things he said to me, to them instead.
It wasn’t until the door closed that my mind seemed capable of forcing those imaginings away.
Because there was Detroit.
His pants low-slung.
His eyes warm.
His smile soft.
Mine.
He was mine.