Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 21607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Then he guides my hips to rock on his thigh. Heat flares between my legs, firing out to the rest of my body and incinerating my good sense. My skin threatens to liquefy under his touch.
It seems impossible that, after one endless kiss and a barely thirty seconds of his knee against my sensitive flesh, I would be not only aching but on the edge of climax. I can’t deny it, though. I feel it—blood pooling, need gathering—right between my legs.
I grip his big shoulders through his dress shirt, nails digging in as he tunnels into my mouth relentlessly again and increases the pressure against my throbbing sex. Pleading mewls escape me. I’ve never heard myself make those sounds. I don’t think anything has ever made me whimper so needily. But I can’t stop myself, not any more than I can stop squirming on his hard leg to chase the climax just out of reach.
“Come,” he growls.
As if his voice opened my floodgates, I suddenly can’t hold the orgasm back. I let go against him, my entire body jolting and shuddering as he swallows my long, agonized groan of satisfaction with his greedy mouth, holding me suspended during the shocking, unfightable ecstasy.
It’s a long moment before I fall limply in his arms, gasping for breath.
“How do you feel?” I can’t miss the satisfied smile on his face as he steps back and smooths my skirt down my thighs, just in time to hear the elevator ding. The car jolts to a stop.
I blink up at him, wondering who the hell he is and what kind of man is capable of making me—buttoned-up Calla Blair—orgasm in a potentially public place, much less so quickly.
“Stunned,” I whisper. “I should be afraid.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
The elevator doors rush open. The stranger takes my hand and leads me past a trio of waiting businessmen who instantly cease their animated conversation to stare. I have no doubt my blouse is wrinkled, my cheeks are flushed, and my lips are swollen. They know what we’ve been doing.
For once, I don’t care.
The stranger wraps a protective arm around me and glares their way. Instantly, all three look elsewhere and settle into an uncomfortable silence as they shuffle into the car we just vacated.
How does he have that effect on people? His presence seems to simply overwhelm everyone around him. They seemingly give in to his silent will with a mere glance. What is that? And why?
The elevator doors shut behind us, then his hands tighten on me again. He plucks me off my feet and lifts me against his body. It’s a self-preservation instinct to wrap my legs around his waist and hold on for dear life.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
He looks at me, those black eyes glinting. “Jesus, I can already tell you’re going to be sweet and I’ll have a hard time keeping my mouth off you.”
“You can kiss me,” I say because he looks like he wants to.
The smile that splits his face can only be called filthy. “I wasn’t talking about your lips, angel.”
It only takes a second for his intimation to hit my brain. My eyes widen. “Oh.”
“If the wet spot on my thigh is any indication, your pussy is beyond juicy. So, hell yeah, I’m going to get my mouth on it.”
As much as I’m horrified by the thought I’ve stained his pants, I’m even more excited by the notion of having his head between my legs. Of having his tongue against the most intimate flesh on my body.
But… “Fair warning. I’ve never, um…responded much to that in the past.”
He snorts. “Then someone was doing it wrong, and I’ll be happy to prove he was an idiot.”
As the stranger stops in front of a door in the middle of the hall, he sets me on my feet to dig a key card from his pocket. He doesn’t waste more breath telling me how good he can make it or that I should give him a chance. He simply inserts the key, sweeps the door open, and urges me inside with a hand at the small of my back.
The second the door shuts behind us with a thud, he attacks the buttons of his gray dress shirt. Vaguely, I’m aware that I should do something besides stare. But I can’t. I just watch as he reveals inch after bronzed inch of steely, muscled flesh.
As he shrugs off the garment and hangs it over the back of the nearby desk chair, I gulp. His torso is like something out of a magazine. Broad shoulders bulge and give way to thickly corded arms. The hard pecs between swell with powerful strength. His ridged abs are a testament to a fit life and a very clean diet. My stare drifts down, down—and I find myself gaping at his obvious erection. It’s as big and rigid as the rest of him.