Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Fingers touched my face. Four points of contact curving around my cheek. Assertive warmth searing my skin. I wanted nothing more than to melt into him.
So much of my life had been submerged in sadness. Loneliness in my childhood, grief over losing my parents, Priest’s devastating perfidy—all of it lay waste to my emotions and shaped my darkest dreams.
I ached for every minuscule portion of affection my husband was willing to dole out. Pathetic.
My thoughts swam in a nebulous jumble as the impulse to devour him battled the instinct to bash his head against the wall. But the moment his lips kissed a languid path across mine, I was ensnared.
He plunged deep into my mouth, hunting my tongue and humming a voracious groan. Pleasure coiled. Madness threatened, and my inner muscles clenched in a shuddering frenzy.
His hand collared my neck, and the other palmed my backside, yanking me against the grind of his pelvis. The feverish sensation coaxed a moan from my throat, and the sensual roll of his hips dragged my focus to the source of all our misery—his heavy, swollen cock.
Awareness that he was my husband flooded my logic. My nose knew his scent. My tongue knew his taste. My hands recognized the soft texture of his hair, and my body sang in invitation, heating and growing slick with need.
He broke the kiss to put his mouth at my ear. “You’re so hungry, my beautiful girl. So responsive.”
The roughened texture of his accent shoved me to the brink of orgasm. God’s wounds, how I missed his heated words, the whisper of them across my flesh in the throes of passion.
His hands moved, roving beneath the shirt and unerringly finding the deep scar on my belly. His fingers shook as they traced the jagged, puckered skin before sailing up my abdomen, molding around my breasts, and closing painfully on my nipples.
With that, the plan was set. Now that he’d touched my chest, it would only take a few minutes to soak in.
Already, with his hands on my damp skin, confusion creased his forehead. Why was I sticky? Why did I let him touch me in the first place? He should have been voicing those questions and pushing me away. But evidently, he wanted me too much to listen to the warnings.
His lips returned to mine, his tongue a wicked conqueror, pillaging the recesses of my mouth and demanding participation. His arousal stabbed my bottom, and I opened to him—my lips, my arms, my legs—drawing him tighter against me, locking my thighs around his hips, and bearing down on his hard length in my fierce need to get closer to him.
His breath stirred the hair that had fallen across my cheek as he rocked into me, savagely miming the movements of lovemaking. Every jab of his hips fed my hunger for him, driving me into blistering madness.
“Bennett.” His palms chased the lines of my body beneath the shirt, stroking and kneading my breasts. “Just touching you makes my hands burn.”
It wasn’t me causing that reaction, and in another minute, he would figure that out.
Time to pull away.
Leaning back, I didn’t move as if I were putting a stop to this. I shifted my weight, adjusting my legs to stand. But I did it seductively, slipping a hand between my thighs and stroking my soaked flesh as I slowly rose to my feet.
The motion of my fingers seized his attention. He gripped my knees, not to prevent me from standing but to spread me wider for his smoldering, gluttonous gaze.
I made a scandalous show of it, fondling and fingering myself only a breath away from his mouth. Close enough to taunt him with the scent of my desire.
Sweat formed on his temples. His breathing hastened. Every visible muscle hardened, and his pupils swallowed the gray of his eyes, giving him the appearance of a feral, mindless predator.
In a blink, his shoulders thrust forward, his face coming for my cunt. But I was ready for it, my feet already moving in an agile dance to evade him.
He missed me by a hairsbreadth. I kept backing up, dodging the swipe of his hand. With a roar of frustration, he rose to his full height and lunged.
The chain snapped taut, halting his advance and yanking his leg out from under him. He landed just short of reaching me, on his knees, with his fists grinding against the wooden planks. When he lifted his eyes, his savage glare—consumed by fire, fury, and hunger—glowed from beneath a thick shadow of lashes.
“Come here, Bennett.” His voice scraped like the coarse sand of a seashore. He went for his breeches, his fingers blindly fumbling with the laces. “I need inside you.”
“Yes, I know. You need a lover like I need the sea. I suppose you could say we both long for the dark wet depths of a demanding mistress.” I retreated until my bottom hit the barrel. I perched there, legs spread, with my hand between my thighs. “But you can’t have me. Not anymore.”