Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Then why did you put your finger in?”
“You sound like you’ve said that before,” she answers just a touch smuttily. “You’re supposed to tell me not to get too excited, that it’s only on loan.”
I shake my head. “Richard Gere must be a cheapskate.”
“Edward Lewis,” she says softly. “That was his character name.”
“Well, Amelia Valente,” I murmur, bringing my gaze level with hers. “This is for you even though it feels a little like trying to gild a lily.”
“Edward Lewis has nothing on you,” she says as her lips brush mine, the pass as soft as silk.
“Turn around, darling.” As she does, I take out the necklace and drop the box to the chair, sliding the delicate gold chain around her neck. Mimi touches the single diamond nestled in her cleavage in the milky mirror on the wall in front.
“It’s so beautiful.”
“Just like you.” I press my mouth to her shoulder, and she shivers, her eyes rolling closed as my lips chart the skin of her neck. She turns in my arms, stretching toward me like a flower seeking the sun. My hands slides from her hip to her ribs, cupping her breast and thumbing her nipple, her soft moan an approval. “One of us needs to stop this,” I rasp as her nipple pebbles beneath the silk.
“You’ll have to do it.” Her eyes flutter closed as she presses herself more fully into my hand. “I can’t think straight when you’re touching me.”
And I can’t think of anything but sucking her hardened nipple into my mouth. I tip forward, skating my tongue over the soft swell. I had plans. Dinner. Tickets to the opera.”
“Just like Pretty Woman,” she breathes, willing me on with her body.
“You’re not pretty, my darling. You’re fucking stunning.” With that, I slide my tongue under her neckline, and in turn, she pushes her hands into my hair.
“I need you, Whit. Please.”
With a groan, I suck harder, swirling the hardened nub with my tongue. In my hands, she feels so good. All soft skin and womanly curves, but it’s more than that. I want her with a strength that frightens me. I want to keep her, bind her to me. I want to make her happy. Be her mornings and her evenings. Her friend and her lover, her shield and her confidant. I love her so much I want to keep her forever.
“Fuck, darling. I’ve longed to hear you say that.” My voice is rasp, brimming with all the things that I can’t yet say. How I want her to be by my side always, how my hands can’t touch enough, how my heart can’t love enough as I clasp and knead her body, pulling her closer. I slide my hand to her thigh and lift it to my hip, my cock aching and as hard as a pole between us.
Her frantic hand slides inside my jacket, over the plains of my back, desperately pulling at the cotton of my shirt. “I want to touch you. Need to feel your skin.”
“Yes,” I grunt as she buries her nails into my skin, and something inside me snaps, releasing a surge of need and possession. Everything becomes frantic for a moment, hands grasping, teeth biting as I pull her impossibly close, desperate to feel the soft press of her belly and the dig of her hips. The sound of her breath, her sharp gasp as I press my cock to her and the feel of her soft exhale as I push inside her. I imagine it all, I want it all, my fingers and my mind skipping ahead as I clasp her body to mine and carry her backward toward the bed.
“There will be other operas,” I rasp, not sure which of us I’m trying to reassure. “Other days in Paris. Other nights in Rome.”
“I just need you. Only you.” Her words are achingly sweet and desperate as I lay her down on the bed. “Please, please hurry.” Her fingers shake as she reaches for the end of my bow tie, the thing unraveling as I pull away. Her eyes are avid as I slide off my jacket, abandoning it to the floor. “In case I forget to tell you,” she whispers as I loosen my cuff links and pull my short over my head. “You look so handsome tonight.”
“Says the angel in the pink dress.” I drop over her, my fingers frantic on the zipper at the side of her dress, but before I can complete my task, our mouths are fused again.
“Stop distracting me,” I demand, pulling at the tiny hindrance. “I need to get you naked.” I yank again. “Fuck it. I’ll just tear the seam.”
“Don’t you dare,” she says, rolling onto her side. “This is couture.”
“And this is mine,” I growl, pressing my hand to her hip and sliding her back again. “This is mine,” I assert, gripping her bared thigh. “And this is mine.” I palm her pussy through her underwear, loving how her eyes darken and her body instinctively deepens the contact. “Isn’t that right?” I demand.