Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Sliding my rough hands up her thighs, I watch for the moment her pupils dilate, knowing I’ve flicked the switch again. She might be spent, but I know I can bring her that level of pleasure all over again. I push her legs further apart, then use my thumbs to part her sweet labia. Her clit is swollen and engorged, and her vagina is still wide open from the double penetration. We’ve ravaged her body, and she’s all the more perfect because of it.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her. “This pussy is so fucking perfect.”
She moans as Jonas uses his fingers to pluck at her nipples, and I use the rough pad of my thumb to brush over the straining tip of her clit.
When she jerks from the sensation, I smile wickedly. “I like this. Jonas holding you in place so I can become a master of your body.” As I move closer, the scent of her pussy spins my mind out of control. It’s addictive and all-consuming. I don’t want to let her go. Not now. Not ever.
I slide my tongue through her pussy, over and over, lapping at her arousal, teasing her clit until she’s quivering and shaking and moaning my name. And as I make her come, I own her pleasure, her moans, her spasms. Rising over her, I take her mouth, kissing her so deeply that neither of us can breathe, but it’s not enough. It won’t be enough because this is it. What was arranged to happen between us is done, and even though I’ve tried hard, I can’t seem to work out how to bring Allie with me once we leave this beach house and return to our normal lives.
30
ALLIE
When darkness falls and all the men in the house have disappeared to wash the day from their skin, I rustle up the only meal I’m confident to present to such a large group. Spaghetti carbonara with homemade garlic bread and a large green salad topped with parmesan shavings.
The scent of garlic is probably what brings the men down the stairs and they gather around the kitchen island, fixing drinks and making small talk. From the outside, we are the picture of domestic bliss. From the inside, I’m trying to keep a smile on my face and enjoy every precious moment, but I have so much buzzing around inside my head that it’s almost impossible to keep the mask in place.
Grace’s expression and bitter words are still there.
Kirsty’s disappointment and controlling actions are there, too.
All my doubts about what the hell I’m doing with my life are like a sour cocktail.
And over the top of it all is the ticking clock, counting down the days and hours of my time with these amazing men.
Oliver takes plates and begins to lay the table, but the thought of being confined in this house with the swirling soup of my thoughts makes me ball my fists and exhale a breath. Theron, whose watchful eyes have been resting on me since he descended the stairs, places a big hand in the middle of my back. “What do you need?” he asks, in such a low rumbling tone that it settles me just a little.
“To be outside,” I say.
“Hey, Oliver. Bring those plates over here. We’re having dinner at the beach.”
Heads turn, and Oliver opens his mouth as if to object but decides against it. Everyone's freshly washed and in their evening best, but eating pasta at the beach is the best idea I’ve heard all day.
Oliver places the big white dishes next to me on the counter and I begin to serve up huge mounds for all the big, strong men around me. With plates, silverware and drinks in hand, we all troop past the pool, through the gate and down the stairs. When my feet hit the cool sand, it’s like every worry I have slips out between the grains and I can breathe again.
Oliver, obviously worried about his designer slacks, appears with blankets in a large bag and we spread them out, side to side and corner to corner until they form a square big enough for us all. Hunger gets the better of the group and we eat without much conversation.
When we’re done, plates are set aside on the sand, and I remember something I left in the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.” Scrambling to my feet, I dash back to the house before anyone can suggest joining me. I want this to be a surprise.
The small chocolate cake I baked is hidden away on a high shelf. I don’t have any candles but I don’t think it will matter. I bring a cake knife and carry the plate carefully back to the beach.
Jonas is the first to spot me, and he straightens immediately.
“Happy birthday to you,” I sing softly, ignoring my own embarrassment at my tuneless tone. My performance is less Marilyn Monroe, more Cookie Monster. “Happy birthday to you.”