Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
I had to have him. Now.
Reaching between us, I squeezed his cock. With my other hand, I grabbed his ass, trying to guide him inside me. I shivered as his butt clenched beneath my touch, his hips pulsing with need just as strong as mine.
He didn’t stop touching or kissing me. It was as if his new mission in life was to make me insane. “Now,” I demanded.
He laughed, shaking his frame, causing unique sensations with his fingers inside me. “Always so bossy.”
“Do it.”
“What if I want to lick you first? What if I want your taste on my tongue?”
“Later. Please, God, later.”
He chuckled, loving my unraveled behavior. “Do you need something, Buttercup?”
“You know I do!” Frustration wobbled my voice.
My skin blazed as he kissed my neck. He cupped my core, grinding the heel of his palm over my clit.
Shit.
“You can have me, then, woman.” The animalistic lust on his face tore a moan from my lips. I pumped his cock, working him so his eyes snapped closed. He shuddered in my grasp.
I wiggled closer, guiding him with my hand. My world ceased to spin as I pushed his tip inside me.
His eyes flew open.
He swallowed a curse.
Then he gave up and thrust into my heat.
I cried out.
I welcomed completely.
My skin enveloped him, sucking him deeper until there was no space between us.
Arthur froze as I moved my hips.
He felt so good. So thick, so long, so mind-shatteringly good. My entire being was full, every nerve ending sparking. Frustration built. I needed a release. Why isn’t he moving?
“Art—take me. Fuck me. I’m begging you.”
His breathing turned heavy and noisy, his face scrunched up.
He’s in pain.
From holding back his orgasm?
I didn’t care if he spurted inside me with no other movement than a quick rock. I could come. My release would obey my summons to explode the next second he thrust. I was achingly sensitive.
But … he didn’t.
He didn’t open his eyes or thrust.
I scratched his back, bit his ear, yet he stayed frozen. His biceps bunched as he clutched the cushion behind my head.
“Arthur?” I raked my nails down his back. “I’m begging you to fuck me, President Kill.”
He gave a half chuckle, half choke. “I … I can’t. I’m on the edge as it is.” His hand stilled my hips, stopping me. “Give me a second.”
My core screamed for release. This wasn’t fair. He promised me something he couldn’t deliver. He was the one to grab me. He was the one to bring us to this point with no conclusion.
I twisted beneath him. “Yes you can. I want to come together. I don’t care if it doesn’t last long.”
I didn’t think he’d obey. But with a furrowed frown, Arthur pressed his hips into me.
Once.
Twice.
My vision glazed over. Yes. Something built incredibly fast. It gathered and congregated. It hovered hard and determined in my belly. Yes.
Arthur stopped. He inhaled as if he’d run miles. His face shone with sweat. “Cleo … wait.”
No, don’t do this to me. “Don’t stop.” I bit his ear. Needing this orgasm, needing to feel connected to him—to let go of our tension through pleasure—I grabbed his ass and sank my nails into his flesh. “Take me.”
He cursed and lost control. He thrust into me, pressing me deep into the sofa.
He dropped his walls and gave in.
We rode each other as if any moment one of us would disappear. We claimed each other. We adored each other.
“Yes!”
His strokes lost all sophistication and turned downright dirty.
I loved it.
With each stroke, I panted faster and faster. I was so focused on where we joined, his lips on my neck, hands on my breasts, and cock driving inside me that everything else ceased to exist.
My release began with a pleasure-pain I’d never experienced before. Building, building. Seeping energy from my cells and centering them in one part of me screaming with feeling.
Arthur grunted. Skin slapped against skin.
And that was it.
I screamed and shattered. I was delirious with sharp spasms, swept away by passion, completely besotted in the way he made me explode.
I didn’t hear the agonizing moan from Arthur.
I didn’t see the whitewash of his skin.
I was far, far away.
I was spiraling into bliss.
I was self-obsessed, self-absorbed, self-consumed as my lover slipped away from me.
I didn’t notice.
How did I not notice?
Arthur never did come with me.
His elbows buckled, his body crumbled.
And he fell into unconsciousness.
Chapter Fourteen
Kill
I’d died today.
I hadn’t meant to. Not that anyone meant to die. I’d drowned at the beach when I’d lost my footing and became a wave’s plaything. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for my brother. He’d been the only one there. Despite our strained relationship, he’d risked his life to bring me back to shore. He’d given me CPR. He’d saved my life. I owed him. But Cleo didn’t like my newfound tolerance for my brother. She’d tried to warn me. Tried to distance me from my family. But they were my family. I couldn’t turn my back on them. —Arthur, age fifteen