Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
You can paint it pretty and call it beautiful, but there is only one true way to have an orgasm.
With reckless
fucking
abandon.
So I do.
I don’t hold back. I can’t. It’s not physically possible. But even if it were, I wouldn’t. Because Jake Swagger not only expects me to give it all to him, but the man fucking deserves it. He’s earned the right to know what he’s doing to me. What he’s done. How he’s taken me from everything I know, away from where I am and everywhere I’ve ever been and transported me to a place where the only thing that matters is his mouth.
On my vagina.
I’ll save you the details of my cries and tremors and pulsating waves of exquisite pleasure and just say this: I come.
He kisses his way up my body. Hands slide to my back and he lowers the zipper of my dress. He pushes the fabric off my shoulders and it puddles at my feet. His mouth dips to my breasts. He kisses one nipple while he pulls at the other with his fingers.
I tremble. Goosebumps cover my flesh. Not from the cold, but from the aftershocks of what I just experienced. I’m still trying to recover from the best orgasm of my life. And his touch on my oversensitive body isn’t helping me come down from this high—it makes me want more.
I’m lifted. My legs around his waist. Hands still in his hair. His cupping my ass. Mouth trailing wet kisses along my neck. My back hits the couch. His big, warm body covers mine.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you on this couch since the moment I came home and found you on it.”
I nod. “Yeah,” I pant, breathless. “Me too.”
He strips off his shirt. My fingertips skim his chest. Stomach. Nipples. Shoulders.
“Your touch is as good as your taste.”
I lift my eyes. He’s watching me. On his knees between my thighs. Palming his cock through his pants as I explore him with my hands.
“I wouldn’t know.”
He arches a brow. “You don’t know how you taste?”
I shake my head. “I’ve always hoped it was like sunshine. Or rain. Or Skittles. But I’m not a very clean eater. And I danced a lot tonight. So I fear it may taste like cheap beer. Or armpits. Or heaven forbid, the sea.”
He laughs. “I swear, if your innocence wasn’t so damn sexy or your body this gorgeous or the way you come so fucking cock hardening, you could kill a mood with the shit you say.”
Hmm…well now that’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me. And it makes me a little shy, to be honest. I bite my lip to hide my demure smile and look away.
His thumb slides over my sex. He gives my clit a little rub, then dips the tip of his thumb into my opening. I whimper when he pulls away. And whimper again when he makes a show of licking and biting the pad of his thumb.
He leans over and touches his nose to mine. I inhale. Deep. He grins. Then kisses me just long enough to fill my mouth with my taste.
“Well?”
I frown. “I’m not sure. I can’t really put a name to it. But it’s definitely not armpits. Or of the sea variety.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I wouldn’t call it cheap beer or rain, either. And sadly, it doesn’t taste like Skittles.”
“Sunshine, then?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jake.” I roll my eyes. “Nobody knows what sunshine tastes like.”
I really like it when his laughter rumbles against my chest. And when he dips his head to plant a kiss to the side of my throat, I like that too.
“Would you like to know how you taste to me, Penelope?” His mouth moves down my neck and he kisses a trail across my shoulder.
“O-okay.”
“Like the sweetest kind of sin.” He kisses his way back to my neck. “Like sexy innocence.” He nibbles my earlobe. Licks the shell of my ear. Then growls, “Like my goddamn kryptonite.”
I’ve been accused of a lot of things. Being someone’s kryptonite isn’t one of them. I’m not even sure it’s a good thing. Nevertheless, it ignites something inside me.
I pull his mouth to mine. Kiss him hard. Inhale my sin. Taste my innocence. Use that recently discovered radioactive power I possess to force him to give me what I want. Which is him, naked. And inside me.
My fingers fumble with the button on his pants. He flicks my hand away and does it himself. Then he pushes his pants just over his hips. Pulls out his cock. Strokes it a couple times. Then while he retrieves his wallet from his back pocket, I marvel at the big thing that is somehow supposed to fit inside me.
Yes, I know this is overused in every romance novel. The, will it fit, line followed up by the, don’t worry baby, it’ll fit, response. But seriously. How the fuck is it going to fit?