Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
Holland swallows and licks her lips. Leaning in, I press my mouth to hers in a fleeting kiss as my hand finds the heart of her.
“Yes, touch me.” Her hands clutch my wrist as though she means to hold me there. I bring my mouth over hers and kiss her slowly now.
“Shush,” I whisper. She’s so wet already. There is no resistance as my middle finger glides over the soft rise of her clit. I lose a few brain cells as she begins to pulse against the pad of my finger.
“Don’t tease.” Her admonishment is a trembling breath, but who is teasing who, here? Who is the torturer, and who is the tortured as her hands make a tighter manacle of my wrist?
I push a little deeper.
“Darling, you’re so wet for me.” My words are pure praise. She is so exquisitely formed, and I can’t fathom how I’ll go on like this, how I’ll fight my own need. So I do the only thing I can. I kiss her. Kiss her as I use my fingers to pleasure her. Kiss her as my heart pounds in time to the pulse of her. Kiss her as I push to stand without moving my hand from between her legs.
“You’re so lovely I can barely fucking stand it.” I listen to myself, almost as from a distance, reminding myself that she’s not mine to take. Not yet. But I can kiss her. Christ, how I can kiss her, my body bearing her backwards as I support her, my palm at her back, my fingers working between her legs.
She moans, her hands sliding into my hair as we devour each other with long, lush kisses and whispered need. My hands are still shaking as I pull her upright and wrench down one side of her jeans, one side then the other, her body jerking with the movement so beautifully. Her excitement is painted in the flush of pink across her chest. I close my eyes to the sight, spinning her around, bending her over the table and pressing her down.
“Your skin is like silk,” I whisper, pressing my lips to the top of her spine. As a contrast, I begin to tug her jeans and underwear down to her knees. “And your pussy is where I want to make my home.”
I thrust my finger back into her so hard, her body bows. My name rings around the room as she begins to thrust back, riding my hand.
“Oh, God, yes!” Holland throws back her head, her hand coming around as though to touch me.
“Stay where I fucking put you,” I growl, unable to summon a suitable sense of disgrace as I hold her there by the neck. Especially not as her cries begin to crest. I whisper such filth to her as she presses back into my hand, thrust for thrust.
I whisper how she doesn’t get to touch. She only gets to come.
How wet and greedy her pussy is.
I whisper that my darling is so cock hungry.
“Yes,” she rasps, her cheek pressed to the worn pine. “I want it, Alexander. I want your cock inside me.”
Everything in me tightens. My jaw, my abs, the rock-hard pole trapped behind the zipper of my jeans. It takes every ounce of my strength not to give in, not to give up, because I want more than what she’s offering. But Christ, if there’s a temptation in the world bigger than Holland, I’ve yet to find it.
She mewls as I pull my fingers from her, pressing my teeth to the seam of her ass before sliding her jeans and underwear the rest of the way. Her sparkly running shoes bounce somewhere behind me then I’m on my feet, lifting her arse to the table and taking the wet heat of her pussy into my hand.
“You’re so fucking beautiful here,” I rasp, pressing my palm against her clit. “Swollen and pink and so fucking delicious.”
A low growl rises from my chest growl as she presses her hands behind her, arching into my hand, spreading her thighs wide. The sight of her . . . my brain short circuits. I drop to my knees, my palms pressed on her inner thighs. I inhale her. Suck. Finger fuck, moan my want and my desire into the very core of her. The sounds she makes are gasping and hoarse, her whispers senseless. As she tightens her hand in my hair, her thighs begin to quake.
There is no yesterday, and there is no tomorrow. There is only Holland. And my want of her.
32
Holly
I am a terrible person.
A terrible person who had somehow convinced herself she was staying on at the castle because she’s responsible, because she feels for the woman she works for and because she likes her kids. And because she knows what it feels like to be betrayed by a man—solidarity in sisterhood and all that.