Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“I want to pleasure you, little angel,” he murmured, sliding his free hand over her breast. “How much time do we have?”
She didn’t comment, but her hands loosened and then slid up and around his neck. She pulled and stood on her tiptoes, trying to get higher. He lifted her, wrapping her legs around his hips, trapping her between him and the wall.
“I need to be going,” she said softly, gyrating her hips against him. “I should’ve been out of here by now.”
He captured her lips again. This woman had the ability to unravel him, shred all his control. His tongue picked up the same rhythm as his rocking. She groaned into his mouth. Their friction drove his need higher. Her mews of pleasure frazzled his ability to think. He gently caressed her breast while he roughly rammed against her.
“Yes,” she said, and he backed off to watch her beautiful rapture. She rolled her head from side to side, her eyes still fluttering. “Oh God, right there.”
He grabbed her hips with both hands. Something about this was so incredibly hot, more so than if they’d stripped off the fabric in their way and done it for real. He wanted to take it slow with her, to chip away at her distrust of him gradually, only going as far as she was comfortable. Never pushing. Never rushing.
He kissed her again, falling into it, letting it consume him. He felt her energy burning between them, soaking through his skin. Felt the movement of her, reaching for the finish line, about to crest—
He stepped back, letting her slide down to her feet. Her knees nearly gave out, dropping her to the ground. He caught her but didn’t let her cling on. Removed her hand from groping him.
Her beautiful eyes sought his, wild, desperate. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair mussed. Great heavens, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“You didn’t call me Daddy, little monster,” he said darkly, so damn hard it hurt to walk. This would kill him just as much as her. But this was the game. They both liked to play. “Next time, I expect you to get it right.”
He about-faced and headed for the door.
“You—” She cut off the insult he knew she was thinking.
But then, when he was near the door, he heard, “Tristan?”
He glanced back, and then staggered into the frame.
She had a hand down the front of her jeans, moving rapidly as she thrust against her digits. In a moment, she moaned long and low, jerking with completion. Her eyes drifted open, and he was in agony, huddled against the door, his dick pounding, his body uncomfortably wound up.
She slowly pulled her hand free and then lifted it before wrapping her lips around two fingers.
It felt like lightning had struck his body, the shock of desire so fierce he could barely focus. He rocked against the doorframe, of all things, rutting like an animal in heat, his knees too weak to stumble toward her, his brain too foggy to regain any sort of dignity.
She smiled sinfully. “Two can play this game, Daddy.”
She winked, smirked, and strolled to the window. In a moment, she was gone, the pane whacking shut behind her.
“Well,” he said to himself, slipping into the room and pulling himself out of his pants. “That backfired.”
After he’d finished himself off, the release like a dam bursting, he found Brochan in the foyer downstairs.
“What happened to you?” Brochan asked.
It was clear he wasn’t asking where Tristan had gone but why the hell he looked like a tormented man. And in that moment, knowing Brochan could have Natasha whenever he wanted, that she’d welcome it because the connection would be shallow, safe, he wanted to deck the guy out of frustration. Not because he was afraid of her being intimate with another—she’d never find in anyone else what she’d relish in Tristan—but because he knew he’d never read as safe, not until she gave herself to him. Not until she allowed herself to trust him, and to her, that was the biggest risk of them all. A greater concern than losing one’s life, because this…this was talking about her soul.
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Nothing. What happened to—”
“Elliot Graves?” Brochan growled.
Right. He was only Sebastian behind closed doors. Tristan nodded.
“Apparently, he vanished. As in he teleported out of here or something. None of the mages have any idea how he did it, but I guess Graves made a whole truck disappear once, so who knows? The mages are talking about him like he’s some sort of magical god. They are scared shitless of him. They’re in awe of Jessie for holding her own against him and running him out of here.”
“Which was the point. Show her power while showing that the two of them don’t have a connection.”