Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“Oh god,” I say, but it’s more like a half-moan, half-yelp.
“You like that.” It’s less a question, more a statement.
“I think I’m into it,” I tease.
“Let’s be sure,” he says, then bites a little harder. I arch into him in answer. He moves to the other one, and yes, I’m very into having my tits played with, as it turns out.
And he’s into playing with them. He squeezes and kneads, sucks and kisses, then lets out a long, hungry rumble. “Fuck, you taste good everywhere,” he says as he rises up and meets my face.
His gaze is borderline feral, and I love it. But he’s wearing too many clothes. He’s too sexy to be clothed.
“I wonder if you do too,” I say, then I push up, ready to discover.
“Find out,” he says.
In no time, I’m unbuttoning his shirt and he’s shrugging it off, and holy fucking hell. His muscles have muscles. His biceps are ripped. His abs are illegal. A blue bruise decorates the side of his stomach, and a small scar travels across his right wrist. “I bet you didn’t get this falling off a bike,” I say of the scar.
With a laugh, he shakes his head, then lets me explore him more.
The best part? The ink that crawls down his arms. Sunbursts on his shoulders and biceps, a couple music notes on his forearms, and a line drawing of a cute dog on his wrist. That silver chain I was drawn to earlier gleams around his neck, thick links resting against his skin. I can finally find out how he tastes right there, and the prospect makes me giddy. My hands journey across his pecs and up over his collarbone, my fingertips playing with the cool metal against his skin. I lean in and press my lips to his throat. He growls, a low sound as I savor the woodsy, clean scent. Like the forest trees from my hometown in Maine. Like a mountain stream.
Like a stranger who saved me tonight.
I lean back and stare a little longer. My eyes have never feasted so well. “Where did you get this body? Did you order it from the Department of Abs and Pecs?”
His smile is pleased. A bit proud but not cocky. “I work out a little,” he says dryly.
“Liar,” I say as I run my nails down his sturdy pecs, carved from, I dunno, titanium maybe. I travel down to his abs. “I mean, you’ve never skipped core day.”
“True,” he admits.
“And these arms,” I say, exploring them from forearm to shoulder. My jaw might be on the floor. It’s possible I’m drooling. “I’m sorry but I’m totally objectifying you right now.”
“I’m not sorry. But fair warning, in about one minute I’m going to tear off those panties, spread your thighs, and taste what I’ve done to you tonight.”
I know what I’m into now. His mouth. “First, can I objectify your cock with my mouth?”
Dragging a hand through his hair in slow mo, he stares like he can’t quite believe he found me outside a gallery dressed in slippers and a T-shirt. And like he can’t believe his luck. He bends, cups my cheeks, and presses a hot kiss to my lips. “Yes.”
I’m not sure who’s inhabiting my body tonight. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this…forward.
But I am sure I’ve never been this turned on, this excited. In no time, he sheds his jeans and his boxer briefs, freeing his cock. It’s as sexy as the rest of him. Thick, hard, and with a drop of liquid arousal beading at the tip.
I push him down on the bed and climb over him, then right when I’m about to have some fun with his dick, I remember…my glasses.
I pop up. “Just a sec.”
I crawl across the bed to set them down on the nightstand, then he tackles me by the waist. “Can’t stand these clothes a second longer,” he says, then he’s flipping me onto my back and undressing me.
Skimming my pants down my legs, then my undies.
Everything’s happening so quickly, and for a few seconds, I’m no longer the bold girl. I’m vulnerable. Completely naked in a hotel room with a stranger. A sexy stranger, but still a stranger.
A stranger who’s…
Oh.
Oh god.
Oh, my.
Oh, fuck.
Wesley’s objectifying me right now. With his talented mouth. With his wicked lips. With his fantastic tongue. The man has slid between my thighs and is spreading me open. He’s groaning and sighing, flicking his tongue up and down my center, then sucking on my clit.
He laps me up as he glides his big hands under me, scooping me up, squeezing my ass, bringing me even closer to his mouth.
I feel like his dessert. Like I’m the ice cream porn he was really craving all day. Like The Hand Dipper date was part of the foreplay.