Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
He pulls his arm from my grasp and grabs my shoulders instead. Before I can breathe, he spins me around, pushes my back against the wall beside the door and kisses me, hard. His hand slides between my legs to cup my pussy through my jeans, his other hand grabbing my ass to lift my hips into his. My eyes still sting, my heart is still racing, but I part my mouth and kiss him back with everything I have. It’s hard and soft at once, his soft lips and the hard wall behind us, and we’re both hungry, desperate. My hands claw at his back, his shoulders, his hips. He pins me against the wall by my shoulders and claims my mouth mercilessly.
We barely come up for air between kisses, until my head swims with the taste of him, and all I want is more. I lift my leg, and he grabs it roughly, pulls my leg around his waist to press his hips into mine. I feel his hard length against my crotch, and I grind against him, our lips still locked.
He draws back slightly to look down at me, his eyes brighter than ever in the blaze of pink sunset in the sky above. “My lovely little Bonnie,” he breathes. Then he smiles, sharply. “What on earth makes you think I’m not still going to take what belongs to me?” His hands wrap around my waist, slide past my hips to grab my ass, hard.
I gasp and arch up against him, groaning with desire. And something else. Relief. He still wants me.
“You’re bought and paid for, my gorgeous slut.” He leans in to kiss my neck, trailing his tongue up to my ear, then nipping at that soft, sensitive spot just under my ear. My legs stop working, and I sag against him, caught between him and the wall. “Now I get to decide when I stretch out that tight, fresh pussy of yours.”
I arch my hips to grind against him, harder, and I feel his thick cock twitch against my clit. It makes us both gasp, and when I open my mouth to respond, he catches me in another deep kiss. Our tongues intertwine, and I wrap my arms around him, one hand dipping down to slide under his shirt. I trace his ab muscles, his pecs, all the way up to his shoulders, and then back down to toy with the faint line of fuzz along his stomach, his happy trail. I follow it down to the hem of his pants, and flatten my palm against his stomach to slide my fingers beneath. He gasps and rocks against my hand, and I grin up at him as my fingers inch closer to that glorious cock of his.
“You are so damn perfect,” he murmurs, gazing down at me, our eyes locked.
“Thank you, sir,” I whisper, my lips curved in a confident smile. Then I close my fingers around his solid length, and slide them up to finger the tip of his cock. There’s a single dewy drop of precum there, and I smile wider at how hard he is for me. “One request, though, sir.”
His eyes flash dangerously, but he’s grinning. “I may or may not be open to negotiations, Ms. Taylor.”
I tighten my grip on his cock, and he twitches again, harder. “Don’t worry, Mr. Pinewood. I’ll make it worth your while.” I tilt my head to the side, and enjoy the way his gaze drops straight to my neck, then trails down to my breasts below, my cleavage only a little on display in the casual shirt I wore today. I love that he doesn’t seem to care what I’m wearing, though. I could be dressed in a bag for all he cares—he has eyes only for my body beneath the fabric. “If—no, when we fuck,” I say, drawing out the word fuck. His eyes flash back to mine, hot as ever. “I want to do it where you live. I want to see your home first.”
He pauses. He clearly wasn’t expecting that. But I slide my fist along his length, starting to stroke him slowly, and from the tension line that appears between his eyes, creasing his handsome forehead, I can tell he’s mine. The same way that I’m his already. “All right,” he breathes, and I lean up to kiss him again, softer this time.
10
Of course he has a penthouse. And of course it’s in the Financial District.
As we wait side-by-side in the elevator taking us up to his private floor, all I can think is that I’m going to start getting used to this kind of treatment.
That’s a dangerous thought.
The elevator doors open on a tastefully decorated bachelor pad. It’s got big windows, similar to the penthouse we stayed in at his hotel, though at least there are gauzy white curtains on these, so we can block out the sunlight if need be. The view overlooks San Francisco Bay on one side and the city on the other, and it’s all lights and the chilly fog rolling across the bay. But closer at hand, his place looks way too similar to the hotel. It’s gray, rather than white, with stainless steel appliances in his kitchen, matching gray marble countertops, and an open plan loft up above. Down a low set of steps beside the living room, I can just glimpse the bed, which of course, is also upholstered in gray.