Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
My hands gripped his hair, the dark tresses threaded through my fingers, as I held onto him. Exertion had left him short of breath, and he panted in the curve of my neck, filling the space with sweltering heat.
I wanted to come. Not just to experience the pleasure, but to lose myself in him. To give up all control and show him how he left me undone. He was close too. The cadence of his body had changed. Shorter, deliberate strokes and tense muscles made me think he wasn’t giving freely anymore. He was holding himself back from his end so we could keep going.
And while it felt amazing, my body had hit a frustrating plateau. It left me dangling right on the cusp, tingling with anticipation but no end in sight. With him pressed so tightly on top of me, I couldn’t wedge a hand between us and push myself over the edge.
“Make me come,” I pleaded.
Fire flashed through his eyes, and for one fleeting moment, it was scary how much they looked like his father’s. But his tone wasn’t commanding, it was sinful. Wicked and teasing. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
He pushed up on his hands, shoving his knees beneath me while keeping us connected, and wrapped a fist around the knot of my tie. It was so he could draw me up with him as he sat up. It made me feel like I was his puppet and he was my master. The silk dug into my skin, and the muscle of his strong bicep flexed as he yanked me up into his arms.
Royce was sitting back on his heels and I was straddling his lap, the open shirt hanging loosely around my sides, and the collar beginning to slip down off my shoulders.
The change in position made my eyes widen, and pleasure bolt through me in a white-hot flash. I was fitted so tightly against him, it put pressure against my clit in a new way, and his hand at my hip urged me to grind against him.
“Oh, fuck,” I groaned. My head tipped forward, my forehead landing against the hard flat of his shoulder.
But it didn’t deter him. His exacting hand pushed and pulled and guided, making pinpricks of heat travel along my legs. I gasped and clung to him, the shirt hanging at my elbows while I rode him at a frantic pace.
“Yeah,” he encouraged in a strained voice. “Get there.”
It tumbled from my lips, followed by uncontrollable moans. “Oh, my God.”
An instinctive force took over. It swept through my body as the devastating orgasm crashed into me. It made me move and writhe to wring every last drop of pleasure from him, like a dance I hadn’t learned the steps to but knew anyway.
I’d been so lost in my own bliss, I’d barely recognized he’d reached his climax at the same time until we were both coming down. My shuddering body was encased in his arms, his heaving chest beating against mine as we cooled and recovered.
His soft request broke the stillness surrounding us. “Tell me you love me.”
I lifted my head to peer down into his eyes and watched the guilt edge into them. It was a moment of weakness, and he was displeased with himself for asking when he’d said he wasn’t going to anymore.
When his lips parted to say something, I pressed a finger to them. I matched his cocky tone from before. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” I brushed the finger away so I could put my lips in its place, but not before I uttered, “But I love you anyway.”
I made my second attempt to sleep in Royce’s bed that night, but by two in the morning, I snuck out and stole away to the comfort of my own room. In the morning, he told me he didn’t mind. All he wanted was for me to be comfortable. After a week of it, I stopped feeling guilty. We had time to figure it out, I told myself.
The cycle continued until we fell into a pattern.
Sex. Sleep. And then I’d slip out.
We were both busy. I had school and he had work—which kept him busier than ever—and we both had events to go to. Plus, there was wedding planning that needed to be done. It mostly fell on my shoulders. In the month since the dreadful night of the gala, I hadn’t seen or heard from Macalister’s wife. Not so much as an email.
I barely saw Macalister either. He was often gone on business trips overseas, and when he was home, he was hard at work on the Ascension deal. I foolishly hoped his obsession with me was waning, but I knew better. An uneasy feeling churned in my gut as if it were the calm before the storm.