Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
“I’m pretty sure my father considers me a fuck you to the Kingston name.” He leans in to kiss me, his mouth lingering just above mine. “I’d have already fucked them if Grayson hadn’t held me back. You need to know that.”
“Of course, you could have fucked them ten times over. Everyone knows it. And I know you don’t believe me, but the idea that you could have and didn’t, I like that about you.”
He doesn’t reply, but seconds tick by before his mouth is on my mouth, and this time, there’s no holding back. He’s not about control this time. He’s about consuming me. He’s about drinking me in and touching me and I don’t hold back. I have wanted him for so very long. I’ve compared everyone to him for no justifiable reason except he was a fantasy bigger than life. A man with a common bond and more of an understanding of who and what I am than he ever knew. We are both wild, burning alive, touching each other, but suddenly, he pulls back, staring down at me, searching my face for something, I don’t know what.
My fingers find his face, the rasp of stubble on my skin as I trace the strong line of his jaw. His hand covers mine and suddenly he kisses me again, a hard, punishing kiss, as if he’s angry. I taste it. I feel it as he smacks my backside again. I yelp and I have no idea why I’m so incredibly aroused by him doing this, but everything with this man is well, everything. And that’s it. That’s why I’m so damn aroused. This is him. He’s more exposed than not. His anger—and he is angry—is a piece of him.
“You want to punish me for who I am,” I accuse, my fingers curling on his chest. “You want to own me because of who I am.”
“I want a lot of things where you’re concerned, Harper,” he says, tangling rough fingers in my hair. “Too many fucking things.”
“The bastard doesn’t get to fuck me. Whatever you do, you own. Whatever I do, it’s with you, Eric.”
“Is that right?”
“Oh yes. That’s right.”
His jaw sets hard, his eyes burning a mix of hot fire and anger, I think. He turns me to the bed and before I know his intent, I’m on my knees in front of him. It’s then that I realize just how determined he is to own me, how much he actually needs this from me. It’s not about sex, either. It’s about family, and the empire that has dominated his life.
It’s about him owning me, and through me, them. It’s about this moment. It’s about now. No matter what I do, I can’t change this need in him. I’m not sure I want to change it. Let him own me. In some ways, he has for six long years.
Chapter eleven
Harper
His fingers slide into my sex and sensations rock my body. I arch into the touch, and his cock slides along the seam of my body, back and forth, back and forth, until—oh God—he’s pressing inside me. He’s stretching me, filling me in a long, slow slide until he’s buried deep. And then he pulls back and thrusts hard.
I gasp and his hands shackle my hips, he’s driving into me, pumping hard and fast, and I want more, so much more, that I forget what that even means—just more of this man, of this night, of everything where he’s concerned. Yes, everything. I forget everything but the pleasure of him inside me until suddenly he stops and leans into me, his face buried against my back, his cock still throbbing inside me. “Eric,” I breathe out, confused, and aching for more.
He shifts and pulls out of me, and before I can recover the shock to my body, we’re on the bed, and he’s pulling me to face him, lifting my leg and pressing back inside me; filling me again, and when he’s buried deep once more, he strokes my hair from my face and tilts my gaze to his. “I decided I wanted you to know who’s fucking you.”
“Because you want me to know the bastard son fucked me?”
“No, Harper. Because I want you to know that I came here for you, not them. Just you.”
My breath hitches in my throat at his words; words that don’t divide us, but unite us. “I didn’t come for them. I swear to you, this isn’t for them. It’s for me and—”
He brushes his lips over mine. “Just be here with me right now. This is just us. I’m leaving them out of it. I wasn’t, but I am now. You leave them out of it, too.” He strokes the dampness from my lips. “Just me and you and years of regret, because I do regret leaving.”