Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
“That’s all I can handle, Evie. Baby, time to quit.”
I pout at him and his eyes glaze over.
“I’m warning you,” he growls.
I’ve never considered myself a tease, but going forward, I can definitely see myself becoming one if teasing makes his thick thighs shake, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a pained grimace, his fist pounding on the back of the couch. My goodness, Luke is hot. He was hot before, but his appeal is tenfold when he’s worked up. And I’m so distracted by the flex of his thigh muscles and his raspy breathing that I forget he warned me.
I’m flat on my back on the living room rug before I’ve had my fill and am still whining about it when Luke yanks off my panties and drops onto his belly, pressing my legs open and grinding his open mouth down on my sex, groaning deeply enough to send a vibration along the entire length of my body. But oh shit, oh shit, it vibrates for an entirely different reason when he rubs his face side to side to part my flesh and begins lapping at my clit like its fruit from the tree of life, his calloused hands reverent on my knees, massaging, stroking, wet sounds, grunts and gasps, filling the living room.
“I want you inside me.”
“It ain’t ready yet.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
I attempt to sit up, falsely believing I can pull this huge man anywhere, let alone on top of me, but his heavy forearm straps across my belly, keeping me pinned. “I want you screaming for more, not less, sweetheart.” We make eye contact over the length of my writhing body, and when he’s satisfied that I’m not going to sit up again, he slides his forearm off my belly, bringing that hand between my legs, watching me with sweat on his brow while he pushes two fingers inside my soaked entrance, keeping them shallow, drawing them in and out five, six times, before biting down on his lower lip and pumping them deep, jiggling them as if trying to loosen me up, prepare me. “How the hell am I going to stop touching you long enough to get on a condom?”
“You don’t need one,” I say on a hot shudder. “I’m on the pill. I was just seen by the doctor, too . . .”
He looks at me like I’ve just granted him entrance to the pearly gates. “I can have you without one?”
“Yes.” I’m suddenly so positive this man is going to blow my mind, I let out a sob. “Please.”
He spits on me. Twice.
I love it.
“‘Please’ fuck you?”
“Yes.”
His low rumble of anticipation fills my ears as he sits back and kneels long enough to strip his shirt off over his head and throw it onto the ground, the glorious breadth and musculature and power of him on full display, not to mention the shaft he’s choking in his fist. And he falls on top of me, catching himself on his left elbow before his full weight flattens me, his right hand fitting his flesh to mine, poising himself to thrust, an earthquake of need traveling through him, through me.
“What’s this little dress called?” He leans down and bites the neckline, turning his head left to right until it starts to rip. “Get the straps down and show me them tits.”
“Yes, sir,” I whimper without thinking, almost delirious, fully under this man’s spell, which is not really a spell at all, it’s just authenticity. He’s a man who wants what he wants—badly—and that’s me. When I’m thoroughly enjoying every action, every word out of his mouth, who am I to slow us down? “It’s a slip,” I say unsteadily, drawing the straps down my arms and baring my breasts. “A slip.”
He stares down, gulping. “You look beautiful in or out of it. You’d be beautiful wearing anything.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, kind of shaken. I slide my fingers into his hair, my nails abrading his scalp, and massage his hips with my inner thighs. And he loves that, loves the skin-to-skin contact, my touch, the friction. Loves it as much as I do.
“God, Evie, I’m ashamed of how hard I want to fuck something so pretty, but I need you too much,” he breathes unevenly into my neck, his right hand moving, as if on its own, shaking, pinning my knee to the floor, hard, his length beginning to press home inside me, causing a delicious stretching sensation, the slowly realized state of being full. So full that I can barely stand the pleasure/pain. “Been wanting between these legs since I saw you.”
“I’ve been wanting you here, too. So bad,” I gasp. My eyes start to water and he’s only halfway inside me. There’s an instinct to demand we slow down, let me get used to him, but there’s an even louder one to feel him fully now, a promise of the most intense pleasure of my life on the other side—and I trust it. I trust him. I trust what I feel between us. “I’ve wanted you.”