Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he says, and now he’s spanking me in earnest. This time, he’s only using his palm. God, it’s better than the day before, and my heart sings. This. His hand against my naked skin hurts so good. I moan, and squirm. I love that when I fight him he doesn’t cave but just calmly restrains me and carries on. I could safeword. But hell, why would I?
“I’ll dress you in fucking burkas if I need to,” he says, spanking me over and over again. “You ever wear something like that again, I’ll punish you right where you stand, in front of everyone, then I’ll take you back privately and spank you all over again.” My ass is flaming hot, and on the surface, I want this to stop, but somehow, deep down inside, I know I’m not ready for him to stop.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Yes, sir, I promise. Burkas. Skirts. Capes. Hoods. All the coverage. I promise.”
He laughs and spanks me again, and again, then runs his hand along my stinging ass, rough skin gliding over my bruised flesh.
“Whatever you say, sir,” I manage to say, but my thighs are wet, my lady parts throb, and there’s an emptiness inside me only he can fill. He massages out the sting, a tenderness only the man who inflicted this pain could deliver. My breasts swell and my belly dips, a tightness of desperate need making me whimper. Maybe he mistakes that whimper for pain, because the next minute I’m swept up in his arms and tucked against his chest.
“You’ll behave yourself,” he whispers. “Won’t you, babygirl?”
“Yes,” I nod, so wrapped up in longing and need my voice is a choked whisper.
“Good girl,” he rasps. “Chandra. Baby. I need you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” I groan. He’s grinning and growling, and something’s caught in my throat as a tremor travels through me. He lays me on the bed and spreads me out, positioning my arms above my head and spreading my legs, with a firm tenderness that makes me melt. He wants to fuck me, and hard, but this reunion is deserving of more than a hard fuck. This is a resurrection that was meant to be. A joining of heart and soul in a way that words can’t capture.
When his mouth meets mine, I sigh and melt in boneless surrender, wrapping my arms around him so I can anchor myself to him. I close my eyes and welcome the inky darkness, the intimacy of his lips and tongue meeting mine, shooting spikes of electricity through my limbs and between my legs.
He quotes, “You should be kissed and often by someone who knows how.”
The reference to one of my favorite love stories of all times is perfect. He’s perfect. The Rhett to my Scarlet, but our love story ends together.
My mind conjures up the lines that speak truth, that feed my soul, but I’m too choked up to say them. I feel them, though.
There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.
This.
This.
Us.
When he moves his lips to my collarbone and kisses me there, my eyes fly open. I want to see him ravish my body. His broad shoulders shadow me, all muscles and strength and power, his hands raking over my body like he’s a blind man, like he needs to memorize every hollow and curve of my body. Grinding between my legs, he nudges them further apart.
“I want you in me,” I plead. He groans in my ear. If I could crawl into his skin and meld with him I would, and this is the next best thing. I don’t want anything between us. I whisper a hurried promise that I’m on birth control, and it’s all he needs.
“Easy, baby,” he says. “We have all night. And the night after that, and the night after that.”
I close my eyes because my heart is full, and he hasn’t even made love to me yet. I’m filled to bursting and we’ve only just begun.
“We do this together,” he says, nudging at my entrance.
I nod. “Together.”
He slides into me with a groan, and my heart rate spikes. I’m lost to this, to us, riding waves of pleasure as he thrusts with an almost savage claiming. We don’t need words, our sweat-slicked bodies melding as one in surrender and forgiveness and unity. I love him. God, I love him, more than I should, more than is healthy, but emotion overrides intellect and I’m lost to him.
“I love you,” I whisper in a tortured, garbled jumble of words and longing.
“I love you,” he whispers back with another firm thrust. He rocks his hips and I arch into him, needing harder, more, longer. Time fades and my vision blurs as we speak the universal language of love and surrender. He’s holding on, watching me, and when my head falls back, and my climax claims me, he lets himself go. We climax together, and I don’t know which of us is groaning and which of us is panting. We’re all tangled limbs and shattered breaths and pounding hearts.