Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Adrenaline surges inside me, and my nipples pucker, and ache. My sex clenches, slick with arousal. I want this man. I want him like I barely remember wanting anything in my life. Every moment with him is enticingly unexpected, including this very moment. Every part of me tingles with awareness, and heat radiates from his hand to my bare skin and spreads over me and through me.
He steps closer, and I can feel his powerful thighs frame me from behind, but he’s not naked, which unnerves me. Now I feel vulnerable, even confused by his actions, but his hands have settled at my waist, distracting me from my own thoughts, and he’s caressing a path up and down, his long fingers brushing the curves of my breasts. It’s a slow seduction, and I’m impatient. I want more. I need more. I’m coming undone by the time he covers my breasts, cups them, and squeezes my nipples.
I gasp with the bittersweet touch, pant when he repeats it, until he all but punishes me with the twist and pull of my nipples, and yet somehow it is still nothing but pleasure. At this point, I don’t know how, but I’m leaning into him, his big body cradling mine, his hands all over my body, fingers delving between my legs, delving into the slick heat he’s created.
“So wet, baby,” he murmurs near my ear, his lips pressing to my neck, his tongue swimming a warm circle on the delicate skin. “Just the way I want you.”
I’m melting, quite literally, I think, and I no longer want to hide. I’m desperate to touch him, to read his pleasure with my own, but when I try to turn, I end up with my hands planted on the wall again, his body crowding mine as he says, “Not yet, baby. Not yet.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means I’m not done with you yet.”
A choked laugh slides from my throat, one part arousal and frustration, another part I just can’t name, but words don’t follow. How can they when his hands are on my hips one moment and then caressing my bare backside, one light smack stiffening my body with shock and apparently awe, because I’m not even a little frightened of what comes next.
I just want him to show me now, all too aware that there is no “now” with this man.
There is just wait and see.
On some level, I’m aware that he’s dominating me, and that this is all a power play, about control.
Control is necessary for some people—a way of life that is as required for them as breathing. I know this from a psychology class I took in college. The instructor was actually talking about Type A successful people, people like Ethan. I also know because of the extreme need for control I’ve experienced since losing my mother. Which is why I should not be okay with what is happening right now with this stranger, and yet…I am.
His teeth scrape my lip, and I moan with the erotic pinch, even as he squeezes my backside again and slides his fingers between my legs. I’m so close to orgasm, so very close, and a moan escapes my lips with the sensations rocking my body.
“That’s what I want,” he murmurs. “Moan for me.” And the very words would embarrass me if I were in another place, if I possessed any capacity for anything but the burn of my body.
He widens my legs, his fingers doing wicked, wonderful things to my body, his other hand on my breast again, fingers flicking my nipple. My teeth worry my bottom lip while his lips are warm when they press to my neck, his breath hot. I am burning alive, on the edge of bliss, where he keeps me utterly frustrated and in need.
I shock myself when I blurt out a raspy, “Please just fuck me already.”
He laughs, a deep masculine rumble, and his teeth scrape my lobe. “Patience is a virtue.”
“So is impatience. It’s all about timing.”
“When it’s over, it’s over. Why rush it?”
When it’s over, it’s over.
It’s almost as if he’s telling me I’ll be shown to the door, and I have no idea why that bothers me, or why that’s what permeates my lusty haze, but it does. “I’m okay with that,” I say, and even I can hear the anger in my voice.
He reacts, turning me to face him, and pins me between him and the wall, his hands no longer on my body, but on the wall on either side of me. “I’m not,” he says, his eyes amber flecks of heat.
I can see now that his shirt and tie are gone, his shoes and socks, too, his pants are all that remain, and they are unzipped. “You aren’t even fully undressed,” I say, still bothered by this idea.