Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
With my hand still resting on his stomach, I press my other between my thighs and start to touch myself. It’s the only way I know to speed things along. I part my folds and run the pad of a finger against the side of my clit, and I’m a little shocked at how intense it feels. It’s because I’m straddling him, with his big length pushing into me.
My gasp makes the breath hiss from between his teeth. His eyes seem to grow more golden than ever, and when I stroke my clit again, instead of trying to push up against me, he rotates his hips, just a little. Just enough to make different sensations flow through me, and this time, it feels good. I whimper, teasing myself a little more before moving to touch his shaft. I feel less of him between us, which means I’m taking more of him inside me.
I can’t decide if this is fascinatingly sexy or completely unsexy and I shouldn’t be turned on. Somehow, though, I am. I rock my hips against his, playing with my clit, and he growls my name again, the sound somehow delicious and a little frightening all at once. “I’m helping you,” I tell him breathlessly. “This is to free you. Nothing more.”
A horrible thought occurs to me. What if he doesn’t want this? What if that’s what all the growling is about? What if I’m raping him? Oh god. The thought freaks me out, and I shoot him a worried look. “Zohr? Is this okay?”
He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. I put a hand on his stomach and start to get off of him, but his movements become frantic, the snarl on his lips increasing. “Em-mah,” he pants, feverish. Black creeps into his eyes. “Em-mah!”
I think that’s a “stay.” I relax against him and give him a questioning look, nodding at him to see if he nods back. He doesn’t, but his eyes whirl back to the calmer gold. I’ll take that. Relieved, I rock against him, and a little moan escapes me because the tight, uncomfortable feeling is starting to fade. In its place is…something indescribable. It’s like I’ve been impaled, but I’m aroused by it. And it’s making everything more sensitive. When I slide a hand over my breast and squeeze one nipple, I feel everything tingle deep inside me. His hips shift again, and that makes everything flare to life. I’m getting wet now, and every time I touch my clit, it’s like I’m on fire. It’s never been this intense before. Sex with Zohr—if that’s what this weird mating can be called—is amplifying everything.
I moan again when I bear down and realize that I’ve taken him completely. It didn’t seem possible, but now that I’m seated on him, our hips meeting, it feels…good. Right. Perfect. I brace my hands against him and lift my hips, trying to figure out a rhythm of some kind to get him—or me—off. I don’t know if we both have to come, but I figure I’ll work on him and figure myself out after the fact if I have to.
He’s more of a pro at this than I am, though. When I move my hips, he arches his to time with mine, adding to the friction between us. In no time at all, I’m panting, a curious ache building deep inside my belly. It’s not quite an orgasm—mine usually hit like a car crash. This one is a slow, languid chase and I can’t quite bring it to the surface. Frustrated, I move faster, rocking deeper against him. My thighs slap against his each time I come down, and when we come together, our bodies are making wet, embarrassing noises that I’m probably going to freak out over later. For now, I’m just focused on more.
More of everything.
“Em-mah,” Zohr growls, his body going still under mine. He clicks his teeth at me and waits.
I pause in the frantic ride I’m giving him, panting. “What? What is it?”
He clicks his teeth again and then lifts his chin in a way that displays his neck. I don’t understand what he’s asking of me. When he does it again and then watches me, I wonder if he wants me to mimic what he’s doing. I click my teeth at him, but it only makes him grunt with frustration. Maybe he wants me to move a certain way? But when I try to roll my hips a bit more, he closes his eyes, sweat beading on his forehead. He’s concentrating hard, and I’m not sure I’m helping.
“I wish I knew what you wanted,” I mutter. Of course, if I did, this wouldn’t be necessary. Still, it’s completely and utterly awkward straddling a guy and wondering if you’re doing everything wrong.
After a moment of panting, he opens his eyes again—pure, pure gold eyes—and clicks his teeth at me and then pushes his chin back, showing his neck.