Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Let me hear you this time,” Henry forces out through gritted teeth, picking up the pace. My slickened body accepts his hard thrusts. Not even the jet’s engines can drown out the wet sounds of our bodies enjoying each other. Everything about Henry—the feel of his hands on me, the scent of his skin, the sound of his voice, his cries—makes my body sing, and I fall deeper into the endless pit of love for this man.
“I want to hear you, Abbi.” His fingers clamp down over my nipples, just shy of the point of pain. “I want everyone to hear how fucking good my cock feels, how much you love having it inside you.” He punctuates his words with his thrusts.
A surge of blood rushes to my core with his dirty words and his illicit touch, swelling the flesh between my legs. I don’t mute myself this time, letting my cries sail as an orgasm rips through me, my muscles contracting around Henry’s hard length. He follows seconds later, his face contorting with the guttural sounds that escape his parted lips. I feel him pulse inside me as he unloads in wave after wave until all that’s left is our ragged breaths and spent, slick bodies.
“Kiss me,” I demand softly.
He leans down, his lips soft and pliable as they touch mine. Affectionate.
“Was that loud enough for you?” I tease.
He grins. “Yes, much better. Thank you.”
“Well, I understood the assignment, Mr. Wolf.”
Henry chuckles and, peeling away, steals a glance out the portal window. “We’re about to land.” He pulls free and then does something unexpected by slipping a finger between my legs, coating it in a mixture of us. He holds it against my lips.
With a grin, I open my mouth and suck hard, tasting the saltiness.
A sexy smirk curls Henry’s lips. “How far my innocent little farm girl has come.”
CHAPTER 2
“Remind me why we didn’t stay at Wolf Cove, Victor?” Henry calls out, stirring me from slumber. I’m still nestled against his chest where I settled in, his arm slung over my shoulder. I drifted off, listening to his heartbeat and his deep voice as he caught up on business calls.
“That’s a good question, sir,” our driver responds cordially.
I blink away the sleep and refocus on the countless streetlights outside, blurred by drizzle. Horns blare from every direction. “Are we almost home?”
Henry brushes stray hairs off my forehead before pressing a kiss against my temple—such an uncharacteristically sweet gesture, especially compared to the filthy things he did to my body an hour ago. “Two blocks away. You’ll be in bed within ten minutes.”
“So will you.” I smooth my palm over his curved chest before my fingertips crawl across the ridges of his abdomen.
Henry’s sigh is full of contentment as he weaves his fingers within mine, and we wait quietly for our car to navigate the city’s gridlock. Finally, Wolf Tower comes into view ahead, a grand looming edifice, the tallest mixed residential and hotel building in the city.
Henry’s body tenses. “The reporters are already here?”
“I don’t think they ever left,” Victor says.
Sure enough, a small horde lingers beneath umbrellas near the entrance, armed with cameras.
“Not when the Wolf name keeps gifting them such lucrative headlines,” Henry mutters bitterly. Between William Wolf’s sudden death and then Scott Wolf’s involvement in it and his subsequent demise, Henry has been caught in a media swirl for weeks. The mine collapse was the brittle on the crème brûlée. And now there are highly publicized pictures of the two of us kissing in the moments after he stepped off the helicopter, covered in dirt and blood, which will stir all sorts of new questions about New York’s most eligible bachelor’s relationship.
I can feel myself about to get sucked into the swirl.
Henry must feel it, too, because his arm tightens around me in protection. “Take us straight to the underground,” he demands, his voice hard.
“Certainly, sir. Already planned on it.”
“Please and thank you,” I add after a beat.
Victor’s eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror, the corners of his crinkled with a smile.
Henry leans in to whisper in my ear, “You wouldn’t dare be implying that I don’t have manners, would you, Abigail?”
I used to quake when he used that even tone with me. Now I snuggle against his chest. “Never.” He has exceptional manners when he chooses to use them, but he’s also accustomed to people jumping at his every command.
“I didn’t think so.” He leans in farther until the light stubble along his jawline grazes my skin. “But I like those words on your lips. I think you’ll be using them later.”
His promise stirs a mental image and a memory that ignites my core.
We pull into the valet entrance, waiting for the cars ahead to move. Photographers have their cameras aimed at our windows, calling out Henry’s name. It’s all a pointless production, thanks to the impenetrable tint.