Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
He seemed to consider what I’d said, then nodded. “Okay. My instinct was to protect you from the asshole, not subject you to his crap. But I get it.”
The tension in my face softened. “Don’t let it happen again.”
The corner of his lip twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”
He stared down at where his hand still sat on my hip, and my attention followed. Ever so slowly, his hand began to inch up.
Shit. An ache flourished inside me. I should’ve slapped his hand away and marched back out the door. But instead I stood there, watching as he caressed over my hip, traced along the dip of my waist, and smoothed up to my rib cage. When he reached the swell of my side boob, he looked up into my eyes.
I got the feeling he was giving me time to stop him—and I really, really wanted to. At least, my head did. My body…well, not so much. It had only been twenty-four hours since he’d touched me, and yet I felt so needy and desperate. The rise and fall of my chest sped up as I watched his hand lift from my side, graze over my silk shirt, and cup my breast and squeeze.
“God, I really despise you,” I hissed as my eyes closed.
“Yeah, your nipples piercing through your shirt look like they hate me, too.”
Weston dipped his hand inside the opening at the top of my blouse. He pushed down the lace of my bra and plucked one of my taut peaks. I hated that I let out a little mewl.
“You like it a little on the rough side, don’t you?”
I kept my eyes shut. “Don’t ruin the moment by talking.”
The hand inside my shirt moved to my other breast, while his other hand gathered both of mine. Circling my wrists tightly, he leaned to my ear. “Maybe we should have a safe word.”
Oh God. What the hell is wrong with me? Why does the idea of needing a safe word turn me on so much?
When I didn’t respond, Weston nipped at my ear. “Pick a word, beautiful.”
I opened my eyes. “Asshole.”
His soft laugh vibrated against my skin. “I think you need a word that isn’t already your pet name for me—one you don’t say at least ten times a day when I’m around you.”
“I don’t need one. I’m not into kinky stuff.”
Weston pulled his head back. “You despise me, and I’m about to tie your hands together behind your back so you can hate-fuck your day out of your system. Call it whatever you want, but you need a safe word, sweetheart.”
He took his hand out of my blouse and reached for his pants, grabbing his belt buckle. With one firm tug, Weston yanked the leather through all the loops. The whish sound was one of the most erotic things I’d ever heard.
He released my wrists and lifted the belt to show it to me.
“Turn around. Clasp your hands together behind your back.”
God, his voice was so raspy and thick. If sex had a sound, it would absolutely be this. Yet I hesitated to turn. It felt like a moment of truth. Was I really going to let a man I’d loathed for my entire life restrain my hands and do whatever the hell he wanted with me? Seeing the turbulence in my eyes, Weston cupped my cheek.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
“So if I don’t want you to tie my hands?”
“Then I don’t tie your hands.” He looked back and forth between my eyes. “But you want me to, don’t you? Stop thinking about what seems right or wrong and go with what you want, Soph.”
It wasn’t lost on me that he’d finally called me by my actual name. Taking a deep breath, I made the insane choice to throw caution to the wind. I held up a finger in warning. “Don’t leave marks.”
A wicked grin spread across Weston’s face. Without another word, he guided me to turn around. Pulling my hands behind my back, he wrapped his belt around my wrists and cinched it snugly.
“Tug a bit,” he said.
I did my best to pull my wrists free, but they didn’t budge.
Weston walked me forward to a desk in front of the window. I’d assumed things would go the same way as the last time we were together—meaning I’d be bent over and he’d take me from behind. But again, I’d assumed incorrectly what Weston Lockwood was up to. He turned me around, gripped my waist with two hands, and lifted me onto the desk.
“Spread.”
“We have rules,” I panted. “Only from behind.”
Weston gripped my knees. “That applies to when I fuck you. But I’m not ready for that yet.”
I swallowed.
He edged open my legs. I didn’t even try to fight him.
“Last chance. Safe word, Sophia?”
“Countess,” I whispered.
He smiled. “Good choice.”