Joker’s Wild Read online Renee Rose (Vegas Underground #5)

Categories Genre: Angst, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Vegas Underground Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
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I spread my knees wider, sink into the position, offering it to him.

He curses in Italian and spanks me light and fast between the legs. Slap-slap-slap-slap.

I cry out.

He pinches my clit. “Don’t come, baby. This is punishment, remember?”

Best. Punishment. Ever.

I’m halfway to an orgasm already. Maybe even closer. My body’s feverish, desperate.

Junior grips my thighs and pulls my ass cheeks apart, licking me from clit to anus.

I shriek at the sensation. At the taboo of having my anus licked.

Junior chuckles at my reaction. “I should fuck your ass, shouldn’t I?” He pushes against the tight ring of muscles, massaging my back hole. I tighten against the intrusion, squeezing my eyes shut. “I think your disobedience merits a good ass fucking.”

I shake my head, rubbing my face in the bedspread. “No, please.” I don’t know if I’m damning myself further by letting him know I don’t want it, but I am a total anal virgin. And I’m dying to feel him between my legs. “My pussy. Please. I haven’t had sex in so long.” I know it sounds pathetic, and it hurts my pride to admit it, but maybe he’ll take mercy on me and give me what I need.

“Is that right?” Junior yanks the binding off my wrists and flips me over onto my back. “You need my cock in here?” He plunges his thumb into my pussy, grinding into my clit with his palm.

I arch, thrusting my hard nipples toward the ceiling. “Yes. Please, Junior.”

Still pumping his thumb in and out, he grips his cock with the other hand and pulls it from his boxer briefs.

I prop myself up on my elbows to see better.

His grin is feral. “You’re so fucking beautiful, doll.”

Beautiful.

Huh.

I haven’t felt beautiful in a long time. I’ve got this extra twenty pounds I can never get off, and I’m always stressed out of my mind with worry over finding Jasper. But Junior doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who says stuff just to be nice. And the way he’s looking at me, I actually think he means it.

“Do you have a condom?” I’m surprised at how shy I sound. It’s not like me at all.

His answer is soft, his gaze indulgent. “Yeah.” He keeps stroking his cock and me at the same time. “I’ll find one.” He pulls his thumb out of me like it kills him and pads to the en suite bathroom. He returns with a fistful of condoms. I guess he really does plan on pounding me until I’m good and sorry.

He tosses them on the bed and rips one open with his teeth. I watch, fascinated, as he peels his shirt off over his head. He’s all burly man—hairy chest, a tattoo covering his right pectoral and shoulder. He shoves his briefs off, too, and rolls the condom over his impressive manhood.

“Spread those legs for me, baby. Spread ‘em wide and hold them there.”

I open my legs spread-eagle, feet pointed toward the ceiling.

“That’s it.” He lines the head of his sheathed cock up with my entrance. “You hold them there until I say. Capiche?”

I rack my brain to remember the right answer. “Capito!” I blurt and his eyes light up, a shadow of a smile appears on his face. He collects my wrists and pins them above my head again, then pushes into me.

I groan at the sensation of him filling me, shoving inside. It’s been way too long since I’ve had sex, and I don’t remember it feeling this good. I rock my hips up to meet his thrusts, careful to hold the spread-eagle position. It’s sort of ridiculous and I feel like some kind of sex doll, but that’s exactly what works for me. I love the degradation of it, the suggestion that this might be arduous, rather than pleasurable for me.

I start making all kinds of sounds. I’ve never understood how people can have sex and not shout at the top of their lungs. I can’t help all the noise that comes out of my throat—the cries, the moans, the unintelligible words. I beg, plead, coax. I show my appreciation with every honest sound.

“Fanculo,” Junior mutters, pounding harder, sweat beading at his hairline.

True to his promise, he fucks hard. Each thrust rams deeper. If he didn’t keep yanking me back, my head would smash into the headboard.

His hand flashes out and slaps my right breast.

I squeal in offended surprise, but he squeezes it, leans over and flicks his tongue over my nipple, all the while riding me like we’re in a horse race.

“Junior,” I gasp.

The strain of holding back shows on his face, but he still manages to cock a brow. “You feeling good and sorry?”

I let out a hysterical laugh. “So sorry. So damn sorry. Please, Junior.”

Instead of bringing us to a finish, he pulls out.

“No!” I protest.


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