Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
My play is soft and teasing, enough to stimulate but not enough to make her come. I won’t take her pleasure unless we’re fucking, unless I’m taking mine, or unless she asks me. I carry on with my stroking, extending the caresses to the inside of her thighs. She’s trembling with full-blown shivers now.
Lowering my mouth to her ear, I press a kiss to the shell. “Do you want to come?”
“No,” she says quickly, unwilling to surrender and admit defeat.
“It’s no big deal.” I tease her earlobe with my teeth. “We all need release. All you have to do is say yes.”
She sighs, tilting her head to give me better access. I love how responsive she is to my touch, how I can coax her into the pleasure I want her to have. I love the smell of roses in her silky hair and the velvety petal smoothness of her skin. I love how wet and slick she is for me and how her ass lifts a little every time I rub a finger over her swollen clit. She’s spread and on display, her lower body resting snuggly in my lap. Her eyes are closed and her head thrown back. She’s a sight to behold. Since she’s not saying no, I gather her wetness, careful not to overstretch her sensitive skin, and slip the tip of my finger into her heat. The hot tightness is torture. I can’t help but imagine sinking my cock into her just like last night.
She gasps, her arms going rigid at her sides. It doesn’t take long for her hips to follow my shallow thrusts. When her inner muscles go softer around my finger, I push in all the way to the knuckle.
Her thighs clench on my finger. “Maxime.”
I lay her out like a sacrifice and bring my mouth down to kiss her nipple. I lick it lightly at first, then close my lips around the hard, little tip and lathe it with my tongue. She tastes delicious. I can’t stop myself from French kissing her breast, covering her skin with sloppy kisses until her curve is wet. Her nipple hardens when I finally let go and cooler air washes over it.
Whimpering, she lifts her arms and rests them on her forehead.
“Do you want to come, Zoe?”
She keeps her eyes hidden from me, her expression sheltered under her arms. I feel her desire, how badly she wants to give in, but I won’t take if she doesn’t give it to me freely.
“Will it be bad if I say yes?” she asks in a small voice.
“No, Zoe. It won’t be bad. Quite the contrary.”
Her cry is defeated, a tremulous sigh. “Yes.”
I increase the pace of my finger, pressing my thumb on her clit. She’s so close, it only takes a few seconds before her body pulls as tight as a bow, her legs forming a V as the arrow hits right where I intended—in her soft little heart.
Women like Zoe feel the physical explosion of an orgasm on every level, most of all with their emotions.
She comes undone with a climax that locks her inner muscles around my finger and a tear that rolls over her cheek. It’s victory and defeat, all rolled into one.
I withdraw slowly, taking care not to hurt her. Then I take her arms and arrange them around my neck where she most needs them to be, even if she doesn’t know it herself. I hold her and give her something to hold onto as she comes back down to reality, to seeing herself naked in my arms like a shameful Eve saw herself for the first time before paradise turned into the garden of sin.
Grabbing the throw from the chair back, I cover her body, not only because the logs in the fire is burning out, but also because she’ll feel vulnerable when the haze of passion dims. Reality is like winter, cold and unforgiving.
Her tears wet my neck, but she doesn’t pull away. She burrows closer. I revel at the victory. There’s nothing that can feel better, not my own release, not even the success of saving our business. The tenseness of my muscles is gone. The anger I felt when I entered this room has dissipated, vanished in the throes of her orgasm.
“There now.” I kiss the top of her head. “It’ll get better.”
It’s the vow I made to myself long before I made the promise to my father.
As we sit quietly in front of the last embers of the fire, Zoe dozes off. We didn’t sleep much last night. The journey was tiring. I’m reluctant to wake her—I much prefer to stay like this with her in my arms—but it’s dark outside. She has to eat.
I brush a strand of hair from her face and kiss her forehead. “Are you up for a shower?”