Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Our second kiss is more explosive than the first. There’s nothing tentative about the way he plunders my mouth, groaning into the kiss and gripping my arms. He cups my breasts, thumbing the nipples, and I arch into his touch. I’m starved for this. I haven’t had sex in a very long time, but it’s not just the physical release I crave. It’s the complete focus of his eyes on me, the reverence in his touch that, despite all the hell we’ve gone through, somehow survived.
His hand coasts from my breasts and down my stomach to rest between my legs, touching me through drenched panties. Our eyes lock and he presses his thumb to my clit, nudges aside the silk and flattens his hand against me. As his eyes burn into mine, fiercely possessive, he cups my pussy.
“This is mine tonight, Yas.” His voice is half growl, half groan.
No one has touched me there since he last did and doing this with another man has not seriously occurred to me. He wouldn’t believe it, looking down at me with his doubts hovering just beyond his desire. He sees the woman who sent him away. He wouldn’t understand how my body has felt hollow since the last time he was inside of me. That I miss him so much, sometimes I wear his shoes to feel close to him. That at night, alone in my bed, I hear echoes in our room of him gasping my name like he did all the times he lost himself in my arms. He wouldn’t understand that, so I just nod my agreement. Tonight I’m his.
My breath quickens when he slides the underwear down and off. He turns me so my legs hang over the side of the bed and goes down on his knees. I stare at the top of his head, the deep waves of his hair and the strong line of his shoulders. He leans down to kiss the skin inside one thigh, repeating the intimate gesture on the other, before lifting my legs and resting my heels on the mattress. This position exposes me completely and my knees drop together with involuntary modesty.
“Open,” he says, pushing them apart. “I want to see you. I’ve thought about this pussy so many times.”
He runs a knuckle between the lips, brushing my clit, stealing my breath and making the muscles in my legs go tight. He dips his head, drawing a deep breath through his nose.
“God, yes,” he rasps and lowers his mouth to me.
I writhe under the assault of lips and tongue and teeth. He grips my hips, dragging me closer and holding me in place for his mouth. The deep rumble of his groan vibrates through the center of my body and I’m head-to-toe shaking, on the verge of shattering. When he adds one finger, two, three, all the while sucking on me and licking at me like he’s afraid to miss one drop, my hands claw at his hair. I can’t help it. I push his head, his mouth deeper into the vee of my thighs. Shameless, I grip my knees, pressing them wider, holding myself open for him as my hips buck and my chest heaves. I come like crashing waves, wet and hard, drowning every rational thought.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.” It’s a chant, a prayer, a litany that falls from my lips over and over as my head tosses back and forth on the bed. The orgasm clenches the muscles in my stomach, in my legs. My toes curl and I fist the sheets. He runs his fingers over my pussy, locking his eyes with mine. We both hear how wet I sound, and he licks his fingers clean as I slowly come back to myself.
I’m still a trembling mess when he gently turns me back onto the bed. My mouth is slack and my eyes are hungry as I watch him strip. He jerks the sweatshirt over his head, revealing a slab of muscled abs and precisely cut biceps. I’ve always loved his chest, the pecs carved and smooth, his nipples dark discs in the rich brown of his skin. His pants and briefs follow, and I literally lick my lips. I want him in my mouth. I had always been squeamish about blow jobs, much to former boyfriends’ dismay, but from the first time I wrapped my lips around Josiah, I loved it and gave him head eagerly and often.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says with a rueful chuckle and climbs onto the bed. “I promise I wouldn’t last long in your mouth.”
I almost say, “Next time then,” but remember there will be no next time. Only tonight. The desire to have him inside of me right now, fast and hard, wars with the need to slow everything down so I can savor this one-night reprieve.