Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
I’d run my hands over every inch of your body, taking my time, making sure you’re trembling before I even think about giving you what you need.
I bite down on my lip as my eyes scan over the words, my abdomen clenching tightly as my body begins to grow warm.
Then, once you’re begging for me?
I exhale shakily, pressing my thighs together in order to relieve some of the pressure between them.
I’d ruin you all over again.
The words sear through me, sinking deep into my bones, setting me alight.
Oh, fuck.
I shift, heart pounding as I fight the sudden wave of heat rushing through me.
Am I really going to do this?
My skin is warm, my face utterly flushed, and for the first time in my life, I feel nervous sending a message.
It’s not like I haven’t flirted before. It’s not like I haven’t played this game before.
But this is different.
Because it’s him.
I stare at the screen for a few beats longer. I reach out a hand, and my thumb hovers over the camera icon.
My breath is somewhat unsteady, my heart continuing to hammer in my chest.
Then, finally, I lift my phone.
The image is subtle and classy - or at least, I think so. Nothing too raunchy, but just enough to tease. The soft lace of my pajamas, the curve of my thigh, my hand resting just at the hem like an invitation I’m not quite brave enough to fully extend.
I press send before I can talk myself out of it, and practically throw my phone down onto the counter.
I needn’t have bothered - the response is immediate.
Fuck.
A deep pulse of satisfaction spreads through me as I read the four-letter message.
Apparently he’s not so articulate now.
Problem?
I smirk as I send it, feeling very much satisfied with myself.
Yeah.
Now I have to return the favor.
My screen lights up with another message.
An image.
I hesitate, blinking down at the screen. My eyes flicker over to the locked bathroom door as though I expect one of the girls to come barging through it and catch me red-handed at that very moment.
Of course, nothing happens. It’s completely silent on the other side of the room, where my friends are all tucked up in bed and fast asleep.
So, I open it.
And holy shit.
The angle is low and intimate, capturing every inch of his lean, toned body sprawled against his white hotel sheets. His race-honed torso is bare - all taut muscle, golden skin and sharp, defined lines.
But it’s not just his body that gets me.
It’s his face - the dark, heated look in his eyes, the slight smirk curling his lips, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
A shiver rolls through me.
Miss me now?
I exhale slowly, my entire body thrumming with the need to just be near him.
You play dirty.
As is usual with him, I don’t have to wait any time at all for his response.
Only with you.
I bite my lip, warmth pooling in my stomach as my eyes trail over the photo again.
And what if I don’t want to play anymore?
The dots flicker.
Then tell me what you want instead, mon ange.
My breath catches. My fingers hesitate.
Because the answer is so, so easy.
You. I want you.
I swallow hard, my heart pounding, my body already burning with anticipation as I type out my response.
That’s a dangerous question.
His reply is instant.
You’re not going to answer it?
Honestly, I don’t even know what to say. Do I tell him that I want him, that I need him?
No. I can’t do that.
Instead, I take a slow breath, steadying my hands as I type.
I don’t think you’re ready for my answer.
The dots flicker almost immediately.
I’m ready for something.
Another photo comes through with the message, and I open it, my eyes greedily drinking in the sight of his muscular physique.
The white sheets are very much rumpled, his torso still bare, but now - oh.
His hand.
His large, strong hand is gripping the hard, thick length of himself. It’s wrapped around his cock, his skin flushed and straining, and heat slams into me as I blink down at it.
I stare at it for goodness knows how long.
My breath catches in my throat, my pulse roaring in my ears as my fingers tighten around my phone.
Then, another message comes through:
This is what thinking about you does to me.
I just about manage to stop myself from letting out a whimper, though I’m barely able to swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat.
Fucking hell.
I bite my lip, shifting slightly as warmth pools low in my stomach, my skin prickling, my entire body humming. I swear, it’s like I can feel him - feel the heat of his stare through the screen, the intensity of his presence even from miles away.
And suddenly, I’m too warm. Too aware.
My breathing is shallow as I type out my response.
Well, that’s a compliment.
I’m trying my best to keep it cool, really, I am, but I’m convinced at this point that he can see right through me.