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)
He certainly knows how my body works.
“How come you have a tan?” As I slide away the mass of my hair, my attention dips once more to that delectable happy trail where it disappears into his open pants. “Oh!” My gaze jolts back to his at what I think I just saw escaping from the top of his underwear.
“Is there a problem?”
“No. I . . .” must be seeing things. And I cannot hold his gaze. Because then he’ll know what I was looking at, even if . . . it can’t be. It just can’t!
Alexander stands from the bed, slides out of his suit pants and underwear, and hot damn. Can’t be totally can. Totally is! I mean, I knew he was hung, but it looks like Kennedy might be right about the cart. How does that not put his back out?
“And now you’re laughing,” he purrs.
“No. I’m not laughing.” At least, I’m not as he takes that hard length into his hand, fisting at the head. His head rolls back a little as he rewards himself with an experimental tug. A vein pops in his forearm, the muscles in his abdominals flexing at the touch.
Nope. No laughing here.
Just lots of watching. Avidly. My insides pulsing. Longingly.
What was I thinking again? No idea.
No idea how it’s going to fit, either.
He aims a roguish smile my way as he produces a tiny foil square, tearing the corner with his teeth.
“Would you like to . . .?” He glances down meaningfully.
“Oh, no. I’m okay. I prefer to watch.” Argh! I hurriedly add, “What I mean is—”
“Watching is good,” his deep voice rumbles as he expertly rolls the condom down his length. Who knew there were men like this? Men built like this. As self-assured, as suave of mouth and as talented of tongue. My heart flutters as he wraps his fingers experimentally around the base, though I jerk back to the moment as his knee hits the bed. “Shuffle up, darling.”
“What? Oh.” I glance behind me and remember my legs are hanging off the end of the bed. One heel on the mattress, I scramble across and then a little higher up the bed. Like a prowling cat, he follows me, the long line of him stretched across my body, his weight balanced above me as he presses kisses and compliments as he travels, then finally,
“Watching is good. Experiencing is better.”
Poised above me on one arm with eyes as dark as midnight, he takes himself in his hand, the muscle in his bicep flexing, his thickly sculpted thigh muscle contracting against my own. Slowly. Deliberately. Deliciously. He strokes the head of his erection through my wetness.
No, not his erection, his cock, my mind supplies. Because nothing as rude and as ruddy could be referred to as anything else.
My hips tilt to meet him when he presses himself against me. His mouth, suddenly pressed to mine, swallows my gasp as he pushes inside.
Swallows my gasp. Feasts on it. Greets it with a masculine groan of his own as he presses deeper. So deep. My back arches with a silent plea as he undulates against me, shuddering as I coast my foot along his strong calf.
“Holland.” My name is a blessing, a benediction, as he presses his palms into the mattress, his body above me almost blocking out the light. He growls, his head thrown back, the powerful column of his neck exposed as he savours the moment, the connection, the feel of my muscles contracting around him. His next words are delivered on a long exhale and an equally slow stroke. “Feel how good we fit.”
“I had my concerns,” I whisper, wrapping my legs tighter around him at his shallow thrust, bringing his body closer still.
“Why, Holland,” he purrs, his teeth grazing the skin just below my ear. “Whatever can you mean?” His dark taunt curls around me like smoke, exploding deep inside as he blesses me with a solid second thrust. I cry out, stretching under him, drowning in the feel of him over me.
“You’re so big.” Maybe later, I’ll regret the truism as a cliché, but all I can do now is hang on as he takes my hand in his, dragging it down to where our bodies meet. To where, beneath our tangled fingers, he moves in and out of me, hot and wet.
“Feel. It’s like you were made for me.” His ragged breath blows across me, and I glance up and see him watching the place where we connect. Watching the slide of his cock and my body accepting it. “That is . . .” His words shake, his next breath a deeply masculine groan.
I swallow thickly as a familiar sensation begins to move through me, flooding through my veins, unfurling tissue and melting bone.
He drops his head, resting it against my shoulder. His body undulates as he rocks his hips, the motion sending a pulsing thrill through me. He withdraws, and I feel the loss of him immediately, a yearning ache to be consumed by him. Used by him. His next thrust makes me cry out as he plunges inside so deeply, his movements more commanding. Or maybe meeting my body’s demands as my hips move with his, the bedding beneath us knotted in my hands. His hand slides under my knee, lifting it higher, opening me. Something inside me snaps, my cries ringing through the room, my fingers lancing the hard muscles of his ass. Alexander groans, a shudder running through his beautiful body. A second later, the tempo changes, and I trade fevered whimpers for solid thrusts, the exquisite tension within me heightening, twisting, building with the collision of skin. The sensation spirals and curls and commands until my thoughts scatter and my body submits, sensation crashing through me.