Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“Chris...”
I breathe his name softly, but the tenderness is gone.
All the wild energies from the party take over.
He slams into me again and again, wielding so much force I almost bounce off the table.
I pinch my legs around him, tighter than ever.
I love how he glides through my heat, my wetness, straight to my womb.
I love the glint in his eye, the roughness in his voice as he takes his pleasure.
And I’m on the verge of tears when he lunges forward with his muscles drawn tight.
The wine cellar feels like a freaking sauna tonight. Sweat rolls off us in rivulets.
I impulsively rise up at one point when he slows his strokes, kissing the drops off his chest.
He tastes just like he smells—salty, masculine, earthy, and powerful.
Like the sea that brought him to me and calls him away, the bottomless deep with its beauty and perils and dangers I can’t comprehend.
His steaming mouth covers mine, owning it.
His tongue punches deep, thrusting with the same ragged tempo in his hips.
I kiss back harder, sucking his tongue wildly, throwing my hands over his neck and digging my nails deep.
“Delia, fuck!” he grunts like a wolf, something possessive flaring in his storming green eyes.
The fever burns.
The only cure in the world is his dick, his come, his kisses so rough they bruise me.
His sweat, his scent, his thrusts.
“Fuck me,” I whisper harshly, throwing my body at his. “Give me something to remember while you’re gone. Mark me.”
I’m speaking with a voice I don’t recognize.
Proof positive that I’ve lost my mind.
But deep in my heart, it feels right, it feels sane, and I realize he’s remade me in his image from the day he took my V-card in Vegas.
I’m his—fully and irrevocably—and I want to be kept forever.
Chris doesn’t say a word.
He just pumps faster, faster, dragging me deeper into the flames.
His hands squeeze my ass so hard it hurts, lifting me off the granite and slamming me back down again. A few more bruises, but so what?
The pleasure is so worth it.
His chest bulges, his dragon twisting like a comet splitting the stars. His black ink becomes a heat flare consuming me.
My arms and legs are in flames.
My lungs are smoke.
Even my soul burns.
Then the most intense orgasm of my life rips me in half.
“Chris!” His name rockets out of my mouth before I’m fully overwhelmed.
Gone.
It takes all the energy in my body to squeeze out two last torn words. “Love. You.”
He throws me against the counter like a ragdoll, just as breathless as I am, balanced on knife’s edge.
My pussy clenches as his cock swells, a prelude to the coming inferno, his hot come flooding my depths.
“Cordelia, fuck,” he whispers, shoving his face against my neck.
He sucks my flesh into his mouth and bites so hard I want to scream but I’m just too breathless.
The shock makes my explosion ten times harder.
I come like it’s our last time.
A thousand futures cascade through my brain in the space of a breath, all of them with Chris.
Pleasure roars like rising flames, crackling and blinding and fusing me to him.
Before I’m deaf with bliss, I hear him grunting through the swirling chaos, and his seed heaves into my depths in thick ropes.
Now, we’re one.
Merged into a single pumping, twitching, groaning mess of two hearts and four limbs and one pulsing heartbeat.
Ecstasy spins like a tornado, stronger and wilder by the second, flinging me in every direction and they all end in the same white-hot bliss.
I can’t let up.
Can’t breathe.
Can’t even recognize who or what I am.
I just know there’s Chris and me, and it’s enough.
His flesh and mine, our heat, and a million lightning bolts.
Everything goes white. Then red and black.
If I could, I’d hold on to this sugar rush forever.
But I can’t.
Because as I drift down from the high of this man in one last torrid kiss, I feel myself fading, like someone pulling a dark curtain over my eyes.
Lights out.
Good freaking night.
18
Vantablack Abyss (Chris)
“Delia? Wake up. Wake up, lady—trust me, you’re not funny!”
Goddamn, she isn’t moving.
If I weren’t so freaked out, I’d slap her.
She’s been out for at least several minutes, barely breathing, damn near comatose.
You’d think a man ought to take pride in fucking a woman senseless, but no.
I’m worried there’s something truly wrong.
I’m about to spin around, pop one of these sixty-year-old corks, and douse her in at least a thousand dollars worth of fermented grape juice when I hear it.
Delia moaning.
Barely.
Pushing my hands under her, I lift her like a kitten, kissing over the dark, red stamps my teeth left on her neck.
What the hell was I thinking?
The girl went completely loco on my dick.
I matched her passion with my own mad thrusts, fucked her so hard she soared.
Now, I have to make sure I didn’t short-circuit her for real.
“You gave me a scare,” I whisper, running my fingers gently through her hair.