Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
I lick a line up her palm. Lick the pads of her fingertips. Feel the sharp hitch of her breath in my own chest even as she bites down on her bottom lip to contain the sound. Her hand doesn’t move from mine, and she doesn’t protest as I take her glass, placing it down on the coffee table. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, not for a beat, but I don’t think she’s stunned. Not as I turn back and she launches herself at me.
Finally. I think rather than speak this relief as our mouths meet in a clash of lips and teeth and tongues. Her hands sliding into my hair, anchoring me there, like there’s the possibility I might prefer to be somewhere else. Fuck that noise as I grip the back of her thighs and pull her to straddle me.
“We shouldn’t.” Her words are a hot whisper feathering my lips even as her grip tightens on my hair. A rasping moan rumbles from the back of my throat, sounding more beast than man as she unwittingly toys with my pleasure-pain responses, our mouths fused together in an endless kiss.
She tastes exactly as I remember. Of wine and sweetness, of want, and heat and fucking bliss as she presses her body against me, close yet not nearly close enough.
“I want you so fucking much.” Since she walked into the kitchen at breakfast. Since I found her floating in my bath. Since she crept out of the hotel room five years ago.
But I can’t tell her any of that as she drops down on my cock and rocks.
I lose the power of fucking speech.
“But this is so wrong,” she whispers, her tongue swiping across the seam of my lips. “Complicated.” But how complicated can it be when I don’t have the power to process thought? Not as she kisses me like she means to fuck me because this isn’t a woman at war with herself. This is a woman whose body is in command.
“Fuck wrong, angel.” Because nothing that feels this good could ever be wrong. Fuck the consequences. And for a man who prides himself on his control . . . “Just fuck me.”
I feel her smile against my mouth as I let her lead, my mouth at her mercy, her hot centre brushing against me. Her fists full of my hair, she jerks my head back, the sensation somehow hardwired from my scalp to my cock. I ache as she presses kisses along my jawline, then curse as she reaches my ear and her teeth close over the fleshy lobe.
“Yeah. Just like that.”
“You like that.” Her words are a tantalising breath in my ear, despite their hesitancy, but there is nothing tentative in her movements as she rocks over me. “God, you feel so hard.”
I swallow over my need, over my desire to flip her under me because if this is the way she wants me, I’m hers for the taking.
“It’s all you. All for you.”
“I made you hard.” She undulates over me, her smile audible as she presses her lips to my neck.
“Fuck, yeah, you did. The way you feel. Your scent. Your beautiful mouth and the way you kiss me. And the taunting heat of your sweet pussy.” Her kisses become hotter, wetter almost immediately, and I growl as she scrapes her teeth against my carotid artery. She’s building a pyre on which we’ll both burn.
“What are you doing to me?” she whispers, the heat of her burning through my jeans.
“Not as much as I want to.” I slide my hands up the legs of her shorts because we’re not close enough. I need her under me—crave the touch of her skin. And maybe she feels the same as her fingers rake down my chest. I jerk at the unexpected sensation, bucking up into her, my cock as hard as an iron rod. “I can’t wait to get my mouth on you. Can’t wait to hear you scream.”
As though in answer, she presses her mouth to mine as she begins to pluck at the hem of my sweater. All thoughts of right and wrong, of complexities and repercussions come secondary to the burgeoning weight of our need as we scramble to pull it over my head.
At fucking last.
I groan as her warm hands find my chest, struggling to pull my cuff free from where it’s caught on my watch, so it takes me a moment to realise she’s studying me. Her dark eyes follow the flex of my lats, the tightening of my abs as I fight my way loose.
But the way she looks at me . . . it would inspire a man to many a misdeed.
“I need you,” I growl, finally pulling free and in doing so almost toppling her from my knee.
“Oh!”
“You’re going nowhere,” I growl as I band my arms around her back to pull her against me.