Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
He strokes that part of me that sings, slowly, leisurely taking a wrecking ball to my world. His fingers rub expert circles. He moves lower and I hold my breath, releasing a slow, soul-crushing exhale as he slides two fingers inside of me. The stretch. The heat. I feel like I can’t take it, rising onto my toes just as the heel of his hand brushes across my sensitive skin. My nails bite into his wrist. Our kiss breaks and from over my shoulder, he looks down at where his hand disappears into my panties.
He pulls his fingers out then sinks them into me again. I writhe in his arms, and though I want this to continue forever, oblivion comes so fast. He knows what he’s doing to me. My breath hitches, my hand squeezes his wrist tighter, my hips tilt forward and meet his hand, desperately needing more. He whispers praising words against the shell of my ear as his hand stays between my legs. It builds and builds…I feel like everything condenses down to a pinprick and then—
My lips part and I gasp.
Light erupts behind my closed eyelids. Stars.
His name slips past my lips on a shudder and he doesn’t stop touching me, he never slows his pace.
The comedown brings a fresh wave of longing, like the endorphins have rushed through me and lit me up from the inside. I turn on him, wanting to wind him up just the same. He’s done so much to me, felt every part, and he’s still in his jeans! I can’t even feel him the way I want to, and I’m so desperate I claw at him. I undo the button on his jeans, yank down the zipper. His pants aren’t even off yet before my hand slips down into his briefs, sliding over him and oh god—the size of him, the silky heat overwhelms me. A shiver of fear about what I’ve done—how I’ve landed myself in hot water—is replaced swiftly by longing. I stroke him and he hisses between clenched teeth. My hand is so small on him.
I study his face, searching for every clue. He’s not like me. He gives nothing away for free. I press up against him, chest to chest, and I keep my hand down in his briefs, working him up like he did to me.
I’m still choked with emotion. If our eyes met, I worry what he’d see. I hadn’t realized the extent of these feelings, but I know no matter what, I’ll have to tuck them away at the end of the night, shrink them down in the hopes they will disappear altogether.
I stroke him until his hands grip my biceps and he stills me, warning me to pause and let up. He’d come from my hand; I know it because he just did the same to me, and if he weren’t keeping me from continuing, I’d press the issue, see if I really could do it.
“I’m not done,” I say, insistent.
He’s walking us backward, picking me up so that my feet mostly float over the ground. His arms are so sculpted and strong. When he has me in front of the fire, warm and toasty, he lays me down.
It’s his turn, or really my turn to touch him. I want my chance, but he’s up and over me, controlling what happens next. I’m splayed out on a blanket, my hair fanned out around me while his eyes rake over me, unhurried. His hooded gaze lands on my breasts, and I can see the lust in his gaze. Like it’s impossible for him to resist, his hand reaches out and he strokes the tips with the back of his pointer finger. His touch is so soft I want to cry out in anguish. Everything is too slow and exquisite—there’s nowhere to hide in this.
Then his hands travel lower and he takes the material of my panties and slides them down. On one hand, I’m bare to him already; what’s one more thing? On the other hand, though, this is it—the end. He sees me, all of me, and when his hands grip my thighs and press outward, parting me, I have to throw an arm over my eyes. It’s embarrassment, but it’s also the intensity of the moment. I can’t be here and feel him and watch it all happening. I’m overloaded and aching and…
He lowers his mouth to kiss the inside of my knee and I know, I know what he’s about to do. I almost push him off. I don’t like this. I never liked it with Andrew and I felt ashamed about that. I don’t want Nate to take it personally when I…
But then his head dips between my legs and his tongue runs over me like he’s licking the top of an ice cream cone, and I gasp as if I’m taking my dying breath. He does it again, torturing me.