Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
His head lifts, mouth aligned with my ear. “Careful choice of words.”
“Was it, though?” Damiano is mine.
He’s my housemate back at Greyson Manor. My peer. My occasional lover.
My open-ended offer of more.
So yes, Dom is mine in various ways … minus the one he’s referring to.
He presses me flat against the wall, the buckle of his belt digging into the swell of my ass.
My lips part and I don’t have to look to know his tongue flicks along his own.
“Rocklin Revenaw,” he purrs my name for the first time, and it sounds naughty leaving his lips. Like a dirty secret he’ll keep for himself.
He continues, his fingers finding the skin of my thighs, “Five-eleven, earthy-green eyes, and a natural blonde. Nineteen, third-year and adviser at Greyson Elite Academy, a school for young scholars. A stepping-stone to greatness, offering an education more coveted than any Ivy League in the nation.”
“Memorized the brochure?” My words come out breathy.
A pleased grin meets the skin of my neck and I let my head fall back, wanting more, but he’s in no hurry, slowly tapping his fingers on the inside of my leg in a rolling-like motion, pinkie to pointer, and again, each time the point of contact a little higher than the last.
“I did. Among other things.” His hands continue upward, taking this wretched dress with them as they glide up and up until his thumbs tangle with the turquoise string of my underwear. “Can he call you his?”
I say nothing, and his movements halt.
Suddenly, and I do mean sudden, no part of him is touching me. His hands fly from me so fast I nearly lose balance, and in absolutely no hurry, I face him in all his degenerate glory.
Same black jacket.
Same white T-shirt.
Same electric pull pulsing through my every vein, summoning me closer.
“So fuckin’ tempting.” His heated gaze has zeroed in on the space between my thighs. “But what belongs to someone else ain’t somethin’ I’m into.” Lower lip sucked between his teeth, piercing and all, he shuffles backward toward the door. “Damn shame, though, Rich Girl.”
His tongue comes out, gliding over the ridiculously shiny hoop. Counterfeit silver, I’m sure, but that doesn’t lessen the sudden urge I have to taste it.
But he’s … leaving … because he thinks I’m Dom’s girl?
Is he serious?
“An honorable intruder. Never knew such a thing existed.” I try to keep the frustration laced with sass from my tone, but I’m not as successful as I would like.
Not that it matters, as he ignores me completely and just keeps walking.
He’s almost to the door now and my pulse jumps with each shuffle of his feet, but why do I care? He’s no one. He doesn’t belong.
I don’t even know his fucking name!
Apparently, my conscious doesn’t give a shit, as my leg begins to bounce, and I drop my head back, eyes rolling to the ceiling, the decision already made.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I tear myself from the wall, headed right for him.
Gripping him by the tattered leather jacket, I slap my hand over the square on the wall, and the doors begin to close, but I don’t wait for the hard click.
I yank him forward, smashing my lips to his.
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t touch or kiss back.
He holds still, eyes steady on me. Waiting.
No, not waiting. Wordlessly demanding, and I have no idea why it kicks my desire into the greediest of need.
I give him what he wants in anticipation of the reward that will follow, sucking the breath from my lungs. “No,” I breathe. “I am not his.”
My stranger needs no other words. I’m in his hands, ass to the wall in seconds.
He squeezes, tugs, and presses, growling against my lips as he tears his away, but only so he can whip my dress over my head. His mouth comes back, licking. Sucking. Biting.
He moves lower, his fingers curled over the edge of my bra, pulling it down, so his heated tongue can toy with the pebbled peaks there.
My eyes close, my head falling back on the soundproof wood behind me.
His hand slips between my thighs, seeking out the proof of my arousal, but he doesn’t give his approval. He growls. “This for me or him?”
An incredulous laugh escapes, rolling into a moan when he edges his finger into my underwear. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re soaked, throbbing. Needing to come.” He presses inside me, and my walls clench around him, desperate to hold him there. “Wet for me or him?”
“He hardly touched me.”
“Pathetic if he has to touch you at all to make you drip.” A second finger presses inside me, and I arch into him. “But he did touch you, and that’s against the rules, ma.”
My eyes begin to roll but clamp shut when he follows his words with a nip to my collarbone, swiftly bringing his lips to mine. He claims my mouth as he works his fingers in and out in slow, determined motions, his thumb bent, playing at my clit like the strings of a harp, each stroke purposeful, leading into the next.