Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“One of these days, I’m going to fuck you as I feed you.” His voice is a low, dark growl. “I’m going to lay you out on this table, and make a meal of your sweet pussy as you eat.”
Oh God. Said pussy clenches on a violent spike of need, flooding with warm slickness in an instant. I can picture exactly what he’s saying, and my body’s helpless reaction makes me dizzy, a squeezing band around my lungs preventing a full breath.
“Yes, that’s right.” He leans in, blue eyes glinting as his big hand covers my knee under the table. “I’m going to make a feast of you right here, kitten, and you’re going to love every fucking second. I’m going to stuff you so full of me you won’t even think of food.”
I’m not thinking of food now. I can’t—not with my heart thudding in my chest and my entire body burning. I didn’t know dirty talk could turn me on like this, that words could fill me with such agonizing need. It’s only the knowledge that Geoffrey is here and can walk in on us at any moment that makes me swallow and break eye contact, gulping in shallow breaths to settle the mad thrumming of my pulse.
There are a few beats of silence, moments so thick with tension I can almost taste it in the air. Then Marcus removes his hand from my knee, and I hear the scrape of knife and fork against plate.
“You’re right. This is delicious.” His voice is back to normal, his tone conversational, but I’m not fooled.
As soon as we’re done with this meal, we’re heading back into the bedroom.
And damn if the thought doesn’t make me soaking wet.
39
Marcus
“I mean it this time. I have to go home. It’s already past four; my cats must be starving, the poor darlings. Plus, it’s laundry day.” Evading my outstretched hand, Emma rolls off the bed and sprints for the pile of clothes on the chair in the corner—her clean, neatly folded clothes that Geoffrey brought upstairs while we were eating. Grabbing them, she disappears into the bathroom, and I sit up in bed, biting back a frustrated curse.
It’s not that I want to fuck her again—well, I do, my dick having decided I’m fifteen again—it’s that I hate the idea of her leaving. That, along with my incessant hunger for her soft curves, is why I’ve been dragging her back to bed and mercilessly fucking her each time she’s tried to go home after brunch.
Damn her cats.
I need her more than they do.
It’s borderline pathological, I know, but now that I’ve got her in my lair, I want to keep her here. The same primitive instincts that demanded I claim her, caveman style, now make me want to chain her to my bed and throw away the key.
Or failing that, handcuff her to me.
In part, it’s because I’m still pissed about Florida—both the fact that she’s going, and that she doesn’t want me there. It means I won’t see her from Wednesday until Sunday, and the knowledge eats at me, sharpening my craving until it feels like a blade carving through my guts.
I want her with a violence that scares me, and it doesn’t seem to be abating in the least.
If my desire for her were purely sexual, I could’ve dealt with it. Nobody’s ever died of blue balls, as far as I can tell. But I’m starting to want her, all of her, not just her delicious little body. Falling asleep with Emma in my arms last night had given me pleasure unlike any other—a feeling of bone-deep contentment, a certainty that all is well in my world.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt that way. Maybe I never have. When I was a child, we were always a few days from eviction, one jar of mayo from an empty fridge. I never knew what time my drunk mother would stumble in at night, and what kind of asshole she’d bring with her. Even when I got older and used the earnings from my part-time jobs to smooth over the sharpest edges of our below-the-poverty-line existence, fear of the uncertain future never went away.
It stayed with me as I made my first million, then my first billion.
It’s still with me when I close my eyes and fall asleep at night.
Except last night. Last night, I felt safe. Like the small, warm body in my arms was all I needed… all I would ever need.
Like I was home at last.
And now she wants to leave.
Fuck that. I’m not ready to let her go.
“I’m coming with you,” I announce when she emerges from the bathroom fully dressed.
And ignoring her wide-eyed look of shock, I get up and walk over to my closet to grab some clothes of my own.