Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
All I can do is moan.
Clayton fits himself between my legs and drives in to the hilt in one motion. I can’t move an inch, and the sudden invasion nearly sends me over. His words take me so close that I think if he had kept talking he could have told me to come and I would have. Now, euphoria drips down my body as he fucks me hard.
I reach for him and can’t, reminded that I’m bound in his ropes so he can do what he likes, and that’s the end. I come. One blinding tsunami of pleasure, and I scream his name, begging for more.
He doesn’t hold back, working me with long, smooth strokes. Hard. Fast. This is beyond fucking. This is being taken. My mind goes blissfully blank as I fall into the rhythm of it, falling into pleasure again. I’m not sure that I can separate one orgasm from the next.
Clayton’s hand is at my throat, and through the haze of pleasure I hear his words. “Look at me, Rachel.”
With his gaze locked on mine, there’s nowhere to hide. Everything I am. Every vulnerability and weakness is on display for him, every need and strength. Something weaves itself together in my gut, a connection that I’ve been fighting but can’t anymore. Deep and permanent and true.
He drives home faster, never looking away as he finds his own release. Lips fall on mine, nearly bruising in pressure. Clayton’s tongue invades my mouth, taking what’s left of my breath and my doubts, still pushing through his orgasm until he’s spent and we’re both panting like we’ve run a marathon.
“You’re damn perfect,” he breathes.
I laugh. “No one’s perfect.”
Still inside me, Clayton thrusts once, hard, and I gasp. “What did I tell you about compliments?”
“That’s not a compliment, that’s a statement,” I say, smirking and still gasping for breath. “And a false one. I can’t be perfect.”
“I’ll rephrase then. You are perfect for me?”
The words catch me off-guard, lodging in my chest. They hit me in a way I don’t expect, bringing sudden emotion to my eyes.
I try to reach for him, but I’m still bound. Slowly, Clayton eases out of me and releases me from the ropes, rotating and massaging the stiffness and pain from them. And when he’s finished, he gathers me into his arms and sits on the bed, cradling me. “How do you feel?”
Languid. Boneless. Totally at peace. “Good.”
He chuckles softly. “Hopefully more than good.”
“Words are hard.”
Glancing at the clock. “You still have time for a shower before you head to the lodge.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. “Shower with me?”
“We both know that if we showered together, you would be late.”
“Worth it.”
He laughs, setting me on my feet. “As much as we’d both like that, I think you need to rest. I need you to still be able to walk.”
I go, stopping myself before I try to argue that walking is overrated. When I come out of the bathroom he is dressed, looking like he is about to go back out and work. Even dressed, he is sexy as hell. “Come to the dining room at the end of the service,” I tell him. “I’ll have something to show you.”
“Okay, wife,” Clayton says, kissing me on the forehead.
“See you later, husband.” What’s weird about calling him that is that it doesn’t feel weird at all.
11
Clayton
I respect Rachel’s request and show up just as the kitchen is closing. I can hear the tell-tale sounds of cleaning coming from the kitchen, but I find her in the dining room—the only person present—next to a table full of food.
“Hey,” I say.
She startles before turning around and smiling. “Hey.” The way her face lights up on seeing me is a sight that I could get used to every day.
“What’s all this?”
She pulls out the chair and ushers me into it, the spread in front of me looks and smells amazing. “I don’t just work in the culinary arts,” Rachel says. “And though my rank was junior chef, I basically ran the kitchen. I did all the tasks of the head chef and had the respect of everyone else there. Not only am I a chef, I’m an excellent one. But you had no way of knowing that.”
I stare at her. That isn’t what I expected, but it doesn’t surprise me in the least. Rachel is incredibly competent, and I’m sure that she excels at whatever she puts her mind to. “Did you think that I wouldn’t believe you?”
She blushes, and nods toward the food. “You would have, but it’s an easy thing to prove.”
I start with a pasta dish right in front of me, and holy shit it’s good. The perfectly spiced and cooked chicken is amazing too. The potatoes. Rice that’s the perfect blend of savory and sweet. Everything that I try on the table could easily rank among the best food that I’d ever eaten, and I wish I had a stomach big enough to actually eat all of this.