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)
His growl deepens when I come.
He locks my legs around his shoulders, pushing his mouth into me.
He can’t breathe a word, but I hear him loud and clear in every wave of thunder from his throat.
Come like you mean it, princess.
Come for me so damn hard you go to pieces.
Dear God, I do.
And he never stops licking as my body convulses again and again, riding a rainbow.
White like pearl.
Red like my galloping pulse.
Green—so green—like the spark in his eyes.
My body won’t stop convulsing, a slave to his mouth.
I ride his face as he pulls me against him harder.
His stubble, his teeth, his tongue steal my pleasure greedily.
Honest to God, I almost pass out.
When I remember to breathe and the aftershock fades, I look up. He’s standing over me at the foot of the bed, already working off his shirt one button at a time.
His glare invites me to watch.
My legs pinch together, hiding a new rush of wetness.
He shakes his head and gives me a stern look. “Keep them open, princess. We’re not even close to done. Not by fucking half.”
When he’s on the last button, something comes over me.
It’s almost ritualistic, watching Mr. Control Freak exposing the bad boy underneath in all his mad glory.
My hands tremble, but I force them to reach out, grab the sides of his shirt, and peel it back over his shoulders.
“Holy crap.” It spills out of me when I see his bare chest again, this inked canvas stretched over solid stone.
Until now, I’ve only been able to look and never touch.
The dragon curling around his trident seems infinitely more menacing now.
Hungrier than before.
And it glistens on his chest like it’s on the prowl as he shrugs his shirt to the floor.
“Go on. Touch me, Delia. You look like a kid on Christmas morning. Feel these abs. Maybe they’ll hint how hard I’m about to fuck you.”
“Chris...” Biting my lip, I let go and accept his invitation.
My spine becomes one long tingling chord.
My pussy throbs, aching to feel him deep inside me, to see if he’s as good as his word.
I am simmering.
Dangerously ready for the dark, reckless ride he’s promised.
Craning my face down near his belt, I plant a kiss right in the hills and ridges of his abs, total perfection sculpted by life and death in the balance.
How many times have those abs helped him save lives?
He runs his hand through my long dark hair, twining it around his fingers.
He pulls tight.
My face tilts up and he reaches down with his free hand, starting on his belt.
“Do the rest, babe. Take my cock and suck. Been thinking about your lips wrapped around me ever since our first night on the beach,” he rasps, his eyes incandescent.
I can barely breathe, watching as his pants fall open.
Somehow, I steady my hands as I reach around him, pushing his pants and boxers down.
His cock snaps out, angry and so thick it’s obscene.
Whoa. Was his dad a centaur?
If I ever thought “big hands, big feet” was just a phrase...
I don’t even know if I should be scared or laughing or just quietly worshipping every pulsing inch of him.
He’s way bigger than anything I imagined.
So girthy he can split me apart with ease.
So I grip him carefully by the base, moving up, stopping just under his swollen head.
His fist closes over mine, adding the kind of pressure he must enjoy.
“Stroke me, Delia. Harder. Imagine that hand is your pussy.” He’s teaching me how to please him, and I’m so eager to learn it hurts.
My free hand slides between my legs, unable to resist toying with my clit as I pump him up and down.
“Yeah, goddamn,” he groans, rolling his head back. “There, there. Don’t fucking stop.”
The delicious edge in his throat makes me imagine he’s stolen his dragon’s voice, my touch awakening this fantastic beast inside him.
I’m so terrible.
I stop rubbing my clit just long enough to lower my mouth down his shaft.
“Shit!” he growls through his teeth, tugging my hair.
I watch the green gems in his face brighten.
He’s hot, hard, salty.
I’m bathed in his intoxicating scent and I like it.
My body hums with delight, imagining his smell rubbed all over me, that manly shadow of earthiness and testosterone and power marking me.
“Deeper. Go deeper if you can. I want your little tongue everywhere, Delia. Fuck—yeah, yeah—just like that.” His voice is an octave lower, his throat tighter. I moan around his fullness. “Did I say stop playing with your clit? Keep that pussy hot for me.”
Happy to oblige.
His fingers add more tension to my hair, pulling on my locks. The movement helps me engulf his hardness without choking.
I focus on his pleasure first.
But it’s hard as hell to ignore my own, building like a battery charge, when my fingers fall between my legs again and again.
And even harder to ignore the rough moment when he whispers, “Look up,” gesturing to the mirrors lining the ceiling.