Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
And then he’s behind me, his swollen length against my back, pulsing and rocking while he moves my hand away and puts his own there instead. I brace myself on the headboard, breathless with the feel of his fingers working expertly, massaging and stroking and bringing me to where I’ve never been.
“I own this pussy,” he growls in my ear. “I own your orgasms. I own your pleasure and pain.”
He’s stroking himself with one hand and working me with the other, until I’m keening with pleasure, my breath caught in my throat. With a guttural growl, he jerks, hot liquid splashing on my naked skin at the same time my pleasure reaches its pinnacle.
My pulse races and he groans against me, both of us writhing in ecstasy. Spasms of pleasure ripple through me, pulsing against his hand while I explode into blinding pleasure. I close my eyes, unable to look at anything or focus beyond the feel of his hands on me, the feel of my whole body teeming with utter bliss. His groans of pleasure echo my own, until we’re panting and sated and a ridiculous mess.
“Stay there,” he orders, his voice a harsh slap of reality after that little bit of heaven we tasted. I don’t move, still panting with pleasure and surprise, not sure what just happened or what his purpose was. “Right there.” I hold onto the headboard as he instructed, trembling from the aftershock of what just happened. He dresses beside the bed and pads off to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a small towel, a warm washcloth, and a clean nightgown. In silence, he cleans us up. I let him dress me, removing my hands from the headboard before he spins me around to look at him.
He drapes the new nightgown over my head and points to the bathroom. He looks suddenly weary, his beautiful, vibrant eyes sated but tired. “Get ready for bed,” he instructs.
I walk quietly to the bathroom, disliking the separation from him. Something’s missing, but I don’t know what. Many things are missing, though. So many. I know we aren’t following the rules, whatever those are. So I do what he says, rushing through brushing my teeth and washing my face, because I’m weirdly and inexplicably eager to get back to him. I stare at the ring of metal on my neck. Will he take it off?
I think he’s asleep when I reach the bed. He’s bare from the waist up, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. I stare at him for a moment, surprised at how peaceful he looks like this, one arm up and over his shoulder, the marks of ink on his arms clearly visible, his eyes closed in slumber. My heart sinks a little. I don’t want him to be asleep yet.
But when I step beside the bed, he opens one eyes. “You’re like a little fairy,” he says. “One of the fae.”
I’ve read enough I know what he means, and it feels like a compliment?
“Oh? How so?”
He folds down a corner of the blanket and pats the bed. It’s oddly welcoming and homey. I slide under the sheets beside him, roll over onto my side, and place my hands under my face. I watch him as he takes in every detail. He sits up, takes the same key that he used to unfasten the cuffs, and unlocks the cool metal collar. Placing it in the drawer beside him, he explains.
“In Irish mythology, the fae, the aos sí, live in underground fairy mounds. The good ones are called our good neighbors, as they dwell in fairy rings and bring peace and protection. They’re mystical and powerful, spreading good will and cheer among those they encounter. And they are stunningly beautiful.”
“I like that,” I say, my hands still tucked under my cheek as I watch him. “I like that a lot. Especially the part about being stunningly beautiful.”
He smiles, both sad and gently, his eyes crinkling a bit at the edges. “This feels like a stolen moment,” he says. “A tryst between lovers.”
Lovers.
“Does it?” I whisper. “And what does… what does a lover do after such a… tryst?”
“Kiss,” he says, reaching for the back of my head and drawing me closer to him. I close my eyes seconds before his lips meet mine.
This. This was what our heated exchange was missing. The intimacy and connection of a moment shared. I sigh when his tongue gently slides past my lips, the heat and warmth of his kiss sending tingles of awareness and pleasure through my limbs.
He pulls his mouth off mine with reluctance, draws my head down, and kisses my forehead. “I’ll sober in the morning and have to deal with the aftermath of my weakness,” he whispers. “But tonight, just for tonight, let me hold you.”