Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“It’s okay, my great and beautiful swan, Leda is here,” she whispers soothingly, and lowering herself on the opposite chair she opens her thighs wide to show me how slick and swollen her sex is.
My breath escapes in a hiss. Suddenly the need for her is unbearable, igniting something raw and uncontrollable inside me. My hand moves on instinct, slipping inside my pants. I grasp the aching cock and pull it out. The cool air hits my skin. I can’t look away from her dripping pussy.
In turn she watches me avidly, hungrily.
Griping myself tightly, I stroke myself. A groan rumbles from deep in my chest, rough and ragged, as the pleasure starts to take over. Knowing she is watching, my thumb glides over the swollen head, smearing the bead of precum that’s already formed there, slicking the motion when I pump my hand up and down.
The sound of her quickening breath fills the air, and it drives me further, my hand moving faster, tightening with each motion as the tension coils tighter inside me. I’m completely lost in the rhythm, the pressure building with every stroke, the need to release overwhelming, but I hold back just enough, knowing nothing will feel really good until I am buried inside her soft body.
“Come here,” I say, but now my voice is a growl.
She gets up and her scent reaches me before her body does, sweet and intoxicating. When she comes to stand in front of me, I lean back and growl, "Ride me.”
She straddles me, her thighs warm and soft as they press against mine. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment as she lowers herself with a quiet gasp onto my cock. The tight heat of her makes me groan deep in my throat. All I can feel is her—the way her body clings to mine, warm and wet, the sensation overwhelming me as she begins to move.
She surrounds me, enveloping me as she slowly lifts herself and sinks back down, setting off electric jolts of pleasure through my entire body. My hands find her hips, gripping her tight, guiding her movements, bouncing her furiously on me. Driving me deeper and deeper into her with each thrust and drowning me in the pure, visceral pleasure of being inside her.
Her hands brace against my chest, her fingers digging into my flesh as she rides me harder now, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. My eyes are glued to her face, the way her lips part with each soft moan, the way her brows knit together in pleasure, and the way her eyes flutter closed as she gets lost in the moment. She’s as consumed as I am, and every sound she makes, every movement, pushes me closer to the edge.
I wait for her to climax. It’s beautiful watching her come. I stare at her and memorize it all. Then I bury my face in the curve of her neck and while breathing in her intoxicating scent of her I ram up into her. Harder, faster, driven by nothing but the raw need to lose myself in her completely. She gasps at the brutality of my need. She jerks like a living doll on my lap.
And then, with one final, shuddering gasp, I feel myself unraveling, the pressure exploding as I lose myself in her, the world around us fading to nothing as I reach that release I’ve been chasing.
Here, there is nothing but Lara.
Chapter Forty-Two
LARA
The descent into France feels bizarre. I’m sore between my legs, my clit is still throbbing and swollen, and I’m still confused by what happened midair. I don’t know exactly what Ivan is dealing with, but I know whatever it is is a legal problem and it’s big. Big enough to make him lose his customary cool. Now, as we taxi on the private airstrip, the beauty of the French countryside sprawls before me.
A sleek black Bentley is waiting for us outside the plane. A formally uniformed, sour-faced chauffeur holds the door open for me. I murmur my thanks and slide in beside Ivan. As the door closes, I smell it. Ivan and I reek of sex. I steal a sideway glance at him, but he is almost unaware of my presence.
For the last hour, he’s been busy on the phone. Even now his fingers fly across the screen of his laptop as he deals with whatever it is that has gone wrong. He hasn’t said much since I climbed off him and got dressed, and I doubt he will anytime soon. This is a different part of him I am seeing. I can’t help but be worried for him. We’re not friends and we’ll probably never see each other again after the month is out, but I don’t wish him harm. Underneath, I am convinced he is a good man. I trust Muriel’s judgement. I remember my mother used to say, you can tell a man’s character by the way he treats waiters.