Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 11371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 57(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 57(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
“Shh…” He ran a hand down the front of my dress shirt, thumbing open a button on his way down. “Just let me enjoy this.” His hand settled on the top of my thigh and gently caressed the place where my hemline ended. “Now… for my first kiss.”
I leaned forward and placed my hands on his shirt, lowering my mouth to his.
He turned his head. “Not there.”
I pulled back, surprised when his hand ran back up my front, pulling at the buttons and exposing my chest. “I’m taking my first kiss somewhere else.” He slid his other hand up my back, undoing my bra strap.
“What are you…?”
He popped the last button free on the front of my shirt and pulled it open, skimming it down my arms. I cooperated, pulling my arms free, then crossed my arms over my chest.
He clicked his tongue in disapproval and pulled my arms open, shedding my bra. “Don’t ever cover these up. You have no idea how much I’ve thought about these. And fuck…” He lowered his mouth and brushed his lips over the left nipple, the tip of his tongue flicking over it. “They are beautiful.” He reached out and dipped his fingers in the chocolate syrup drizzled over the edges of the plate, then traced a light swirl across each nipple.
I looked down at my chocolate-covered nipples and felt lightheaded. “You’ve been thinking about my breasts?” I barely managed the question as his mouth settled on my nipple. He gently sucked, his lips and tongue working gently over the sensitive bud, and I almost came off his lap.
God, it had been almost a year, before my breasts had gotten any stimulation, other than a once-over with my washcloth. I clutched at his head, encouraging his action, and reminded myself of who he was.
Tripp Reinhart. I was sitting on Tripp Reinhart’s lap. His big strong hands on my breasts, lifting them into his greedy mouth. My bare pussy against his dress pants.
I hadn’t been coy when I’d said that he hated me. I had thought, since the day I was hired at the Beau, that he had it out for me, and not in a yank-off-my-panties sort of way. He’d always scared me, his brooding glare in place since the moment he’d walk in the door. The only time I’d ever seen him crack a smile was when he’d been talking with Dario, and in those rare moments when one would flash across his handsome features… it was like seeing a hummingbird. Fleeting. Special. It happened, and then you questioned whether it had actually come.
There was a reason I’d fixated on Dario instead, and it had had everything to do with accessibility and chance, and nothing to do with one man’s appeal over the other. He and Dario didn’t compete as much as complement each other. Dario was the flirt, the playboy, the velvet glove around Tripp Reinhart’s iron fist.
How would things change once Dario left? Maybe the two of them would grow into closer versions of each other. Dario could use some settling down and seriousness. And Tripp? He could learn to lighten up, smile more, and give a little.
He was currently giving A LOT, my crossed ankles beginning to loosen, my thighs opening up, and I tightened my grip on his shirt to keep from touching myself. His mouth moved to the other breast, his teeth scraping along my cleavage, and I whispered out his name in reverence, encouraging him. I grabbed the back of his head, scraping my nails through his thick hair and pulled it tighter on my breast.
His hands left me, and I was distracted by movement along my thigh. I heard the clink of a belt buckle, the zip of his pants, and when he lifted his head, his delicious mouth leaving me, his eyes were dark with need.
“Second kiss,” he said hoarsely. “This one from you.”
“Second kiss?” I swallowed, the cool air of the penthouse hitting my wet nipples. I wanted more. I needed his warm hands on them, or the friction of his chest, brushing back and forth over them as he thrust, harder and harder…
“Here.” He pulled my hand from his shirt and placed it on his cock, and I dropped my gaze to it, my mouth dropping open in surprise.
The rumors were true. Tripp Reinhart was huge. Like, circus freak in a cage, huge. Like—I’m not entirely sure I wanted this inside my body—huge. I wrapped my hand around his long dick and gave it an experimental stroke. He let out a soft groan of encouragement and I did it again, my fist journeying from the base of him all the way to his swollen tip. He wasn’t just hard—he was steel. He didn’t bend in my hand, didn’t squish any when I squeezed him, and I don’t know how he didn’t rip a hole in his pants when he was just sitting here. I mean, what did he do with it all day?