Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
I made my way over to his bed, running my hand up and down the post, remembering our night together. Which now seemed like years ago. I couldn’t help myself, I pulled back the covers, sinking deeply into his sheets. Lying in the exact spot he did, nights before. Aching to feel him any way I could. Sighing in contentment when my skin hit the silky linens, the aroma of our ravenous bodies still lingered in the space. I hatefully kicked off the covers, cursing at myself for being so fucking weak.
He left me.
And there I was still waiting for him.
More so now than ever before.
I sat up, bringing my knees to my chest, debating if I should leave. Go back to my room, and drown my sorrows. But the mirror on the wall across from his bed caught my attention. It was parallel to the mirror behind me that I just noticed, too. I peered around the room, realizing they were the only mirrors, both angled toward the bed.
I saw my reflection staring back at me, feeling as though it had changed in the last few days. Like I looked older or something I couldn’t place my finger on. It could have been his shirt, but I felt…
Sexy.
Enticing.
Beautiful.
Is this who he saw when he looked at me?
My fingers moved on their own accord, unbuttoning his white collared shirt, desperately wanting to see what he did. My nipples were hard, calling out for me to touch them. Roll them between my fingers, like he had. Flicking and pinching the small pebble just enough to set my body on fire. I had played with myself before, but the sensation was nothing like I’d felt at that moment. The desire to feel the way he made me feel was so overwhelming, so consuming, and so fucking real…
My fingers hooked the lace band of my panties, sliding them down my freshly shaved legs. Throwing them beside me on the floor, and leaving his unbuttoned shirt on. Taking in the image of my body through the glass, trying to imagine what he saw when he looked at me with his hypnotic eyes.
The eyes I couldn’t get enough of.
I stared at my naked body, pulling my hair away from my face. My fingers started to trace the outline of my pouty lips, remembering the way he looked at my mouth when I talked, with such hunger. The tip of my tongue glided against my fingertips, tracing from my neck to my collarbones, leaving a trail of my saliva in its wake. I repeated the same process with my other hand, except this time I touched my hard nipple, lightly at first. Then, I pulled on it, remembering the way his teeth felt when he lightly bit me. I rubbed my breast, while my other hand slowly treaded toward my belly button. Using the tips of my fingers, I circled it. Tugging at the diamond stud dangling, remembering how captivated he was with my belly button ring the first time he saw it. My hand moved toward the top of my pussy, caressing the lining of my soft, bare folds.
I was wet.
For him.
“You’re so fucking wet.” His voice rang through my head.
I touched my clit, circling it, just like he had. Manipulating the bundle of nerves, harder, faster with more urgency. I moaned, leaning back, supporting my weight with one hand, still sitting up. My head fell back, and I closed my eyes imagining he was the one touching me. I moved my fingers from my clit to the opening of my pussy, and pushed my middle finger in, adding my index finger. Easing in and out of my tight hole, beginning to breathe heavier the closer I got to my climax. I glided my fingers back to my clit, riding my hand with the sway of my hips. Imagining I was riding his cock.
“Oh, God,” I panted, picturing his face in between my legs. “Alejandro…” I clenched, about to come undone. I opened my eyes, wanting to see myself in the mirror.
Coming face to face with Martinez.
Through the reflection in the glass.
I gasped, jumping out of my skin. Grabbing for the blankets, trying to cover myself.
“Don’t,” he ordered in an authoritative tone. The same one he used the night I came running to him, after he surprised me with my dance studio.
“I’m sorr—”
“Don’t,” he repeated in the same dominant voice, leaning into the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Fully dressed in a suit. Not one hair out of place.
How long had he been there? Watching me?
I slid from the bed, wanting to close the distance between us. “You haven’t been here. I… just… I don’t know… I’m so—”
“Don’t,” he snapped one last time, pushing off the doorframe. His dark, cold, soulless eyes never wavered from my face. I retreated back to the bed. I couldn’t remember the last time he looked at me like that.