Total pages in book: 224
Estimated words: 215705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1079(@200wpm)___ 863(@250wpm)___ 719(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1079(@200wpm)___ 863(@250wpm)___ 719(@300wpm)
For the briefest of moments, she is stiff, unyielding, but her resistance fades into a moan, the tense lines of her body melting into every hard part of me. “Now I know how you taste here,” I say, brushing my lips over hers again. “What about here?” I press my fingers between her thighs, into the wet heat of her sex. “Should I find out?”
“Do I actually have a say in the matter?”
“You can tell me no anytime you want.” I release her and press my hands to the wall. “Do you want me to lick you, Samantha?”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“So I’ve been told, but you aren’t going to make it seem as if I started this. You started this. So I ask again. Do you want me to lick you,” I reach down and slide two fingers along the seam of her slick body, “here?”
She curls her fingers on my chest and cuts her gaze. I lean in, my lips by her ear. “I don’t know if you’re pissed off that you want a man that you hate, or you just went from bold to shy on me. Either way,” I tangle fingers in her hair and drag her gaze to mine, “it’s sexy as fuck.” I kiss her again, a long stroke of my tongue against hers, and I caress her breasts and pull the top of her dress down to expose her nipples, my fingers stroking over one, and then tugging roughly.
A soft, sexy sound escapes her lips and lands on my tongue, and I smile against her mouth. “Now for that taste.” I brush my lips over hers once more and allow my hands to settle at the sides of her breasts, and I lean in and drag my tongue around her nipple before settling on one knee.
“You haven’t answered my question,” I say, shackling her hips and glancing up at her. “Do you want me to lick you?”
“Is that really even a question?” she says, her voice a raspy, sexy affected whisper.
“I thought you might have a problem with a stranger licking certain, extremely intimate parts of your body. Do you want me to lick you?”
Her eyes burn hot. “Yes.”
“Where?”
“If you don’t know where,” she challenges, “I picked the wrong guy.”
I laugh, which is not something I do often, but she gets an “A” for creatively getting out of that answer and I reward her with my tongue, a quick lick over her clit. She sucks in air and I glance up at her. “There?” I ask.
“Yes,” she dares this time. “There.”
I could make her tell me exactly where there is, to name her spot, to say please, but I really want to hear this woman moan, not beg. I lick her again and this time I suckle her swollen nub, stroking fingers along her sensitive seam and delving inside her. Just as I could make her beg, I could tease her now, force her to trade an orgasm for her name, but you don’t strip everything from a person at once unless you mean to destroy them. And I want to know her story, not destroy her. She interests me. I haven’t been interested beyond a fast fuck in a long damn time, but I am now.
I drag her leg to my shoulder, cup her backside, and I lick, suckle, and stroke her sex until she is arching into me, her fingers tangling in my hair, wrapping around the strands with a fierce grip, which confirms what I already know: she doesn’t want this to feel good. She doesn’t want time to feel good. That she can’t help herself, pleases me. Drives me onward, and when she tenses and moans, it’s only seconds afterward when her sex clenches around my fingers and she jerks with the intensity of her orgasm. I soften my touch, my mouth, my tongue, and when her knee buckles, I catch her waist, ease her leg to the ground; sliding up her body to bring my mouth to her mouth.
“This is how you taste on my lips,” I say, closing my lips over hers, and kissing her, “and now you have something other than how much you hate me to think about.” I reach around her and unzip her dress.
“I do hate you,” she confesses, catching my hands when I would ease the front of her dress down. “Passionately. With all that I am.”
“Then you have two choices.” I shrug out of my jacket and sit down on the couch. “Undress or talk.”
She doesn’t do either. She comes down on top of me, her legs straddling my hips, her hand settling on my face. “I will not undress because you order me to undress. I will not do anything because you order me to do it.”
I cup her head and tangle my fingers in her hair. “Is that a challenge or a promise?” I drag her mouth to mine, and she doesn’t pull back. She sinks into the kiss, leaning into me, and when I’m about to flip her to her back, suddenly a cuff is on my wrist. The shock loosens my grip on her hair, and she scrambles off of me. I jerk at my arm to find it attached to a steel bar that runs the length of the couch.