Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“Get on your hands and knees.”
I comply, and I wait for him to line up behind me. But first, he grabs the ribbon, and…
Oh.
When he moves behind me, he adjusts my legs, and ties up…my ankles, each one separately, leaving just enough ribbon in between so they’re a foot apart. “Down onto your elbows,” he commands.
I sink down, craning my neck to watch him the whole time as he grabs a condom, slides it on, and notches the head of his cock against me. His jaw tightens, like he’s at war with himself, then he seems to lose the battle. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long,” he says then shoves his cock into me and fills me all the way.
I cry out with pleasure.
“Wanted to fuck you when it’s snowing. Wanted to kiss you by the fireplace. Wanted to taste you,” he says, and I’m overwhelmed by the pleasure and the admission.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” I say.
He eases in then out, his hands gripping the flesh of my ass as he finds a rhythm that matches the flickering of the lights on the Christmas tree. With a passion that mirrors the sultry tone of the music. With a lust that’s stronger than the crackling fire.
We smash all our fake romance guidelines that we set long ago. We throw out the dating handbook. We move together like we are together. He covers my back, grabs my chin, turns my face, and kisses me as he fucks me.
It’s hot and deep and burns to the center of my soul. I want to spread my legs, but the ribbon’s keeping them in place, so it’s like I can’t escape the sensations, the building of the orgasm I have no control over.
He hits a spot deep inside me over and over again. I’m close, so close, and I don’t want to lose it, so I tell him urgently, “Use your fingers.”
“I’ll accept that order.” He slides a hand between my thighs and strokes my clit as he fucks me deep and hard into the snowy night.
In seconds, I’m clawing at the sheets, shaking, and then falling apart beneath him.
I expect him to follow me there but he doesn’t.
As the aftershocks ripple through me, he eases out, unties me, and flips me over in seconds. He pushes my knees up to my chest and settles between my legs, looking down at me like a man unleashed. Like a man who thinks I’m his.
He fucks me like I am his.
And he feels like mine as his body jerks, shakes, then stills before he collapses on me with a smoky, soulful, “You.”
I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. I don’t know what will happen when we leave these cabins. But for now and the next few days, I think I like this filthy Christmas magic.
I like it more than Christmas revenge.
Later, when we’re cleaned up and sliding under the covers, I say, “It really doesn’t matter that you can’t sing.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you fuck like a rock star.”
In the morning as sunlight streams through the window, I expect Wilder to be off buying a new hotel or striking a clean-energy deal on a Sunday morning.
What I don’t expect is him to grab his ringing phone from the nightstand, while grabbing his clothes, and answering, “What’s wrong, Victor?”
A chill sweeps over me. That’s his dad’s friend.
38
SOME KIND OF METAPHOR
Wilder
Victor’s name on the screen alone sends a flash of fear through me, so I brace myself for bad news as I snick the door shut.
“Hey,” I say as I yank on jeans and shoes, then jerk the phone away from my head to pull on my sweater, nearly getting my arm stuck in the neck. “What’s going on?”
“Just wanted to check in,” he says in his diplomatic way as I beeline to the living room.
“Thanks. I’m okay.” When I reach the sliding glass door, I jerk it open and head onto the deck, then move past small talk to get to the heart of the matter. “What’s going on with Dad?”
“Just wondering if you’ve heard from him?” Victor asks as I pace across the deck in the cold of the Evergreen Falls morning. It’s chilly since it’s late December, but this was never going to be a warm and fuzzy call anyway.
“No. I haven’t heard from him,” I answer, but I’m always ready for bad news when it comes to my father. To hear he hurt himself. He lost stomach-dropping amounts of money. He’s in jail. He’s dead. “I take it this means you haven’t?”
“It’s been a few days. But last night I got word from my friend Diane Diamond over at Desert Springs Casino that he got caught counting cards.”
I groan, dragging a hand through my hair. “Are you kidding me? He’s cheating now?”
Victor sighs, long and resigned. “If you believe what they say.”