Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
And then he pulled back.
“What?” I breathed, eyes hooded.
“Tell me,” he said again.
I flushed. “I can’t… I don’t know…”
Clay’s eyes stayed locked on mine, hand framing my neck once more. But this time, his thumb came to rest on my lower lip, just like it had that night at the club when we went to watch Shawn. His eyes fell to where his thumb rested, and he smoothed the pad of it over my slick lip before dragging it down, pulling my lip along with it.
“Tell me what you feel,” he demanded again.
“Excited,” I breathed, chest heaving at the admission. “And… hot.”
“Hot,” he echoed with a satisfied grin, and once again that hand of his trailed down, but this time, not over my arm. He slid it along the length of my throat, just the tiniest amount of pressure there before he continued lower, over my collarbone, my chest, and finally, palmed my breast through the thin tank top I wore.
The thin tank top with nothing else underneath it.
My nipple puckered even more at the connection, and Clay groaned his approval, thumbing it through the thin cotton fabric. A pang of white hot shot from that point of contact right between my legs, and I cried out, arching into the touch and pulling away from it both at once.
“That warmth is desire,” he explained, rolling his thumb around my nipple again. “You’re turned on.”
“Yes,” I breathed. Then, I rolled my lips together, fighting for the words. “How do I make you feel that?”
Clay laughed, the sound low and delicious in my ear. His palm left my breast, cold air sweeping in to take its place as he reached down for my hand. Threading his fingers around mine, he slowly slid my hand along his stomach, and I felt every ridge and valley of his abdomen on the way down.
Until he cupped my hand in his, guiding my palm down to where his thick, solid erection strained against his sweatpants.
“Fuck,” I whispered when I felt it, when Clay groaned and flexed into my touch. I couldn’t help but wrap around it as best I could with the sweatpants in the way, and Clay dropped his forehead to mine, swallowing.
“There’s your answer, Kitten,” he husked.
He was turned on. His skin was blistering hot just like mine.
Because of me.
The power of that truth surged through me like a tidal wave, and I tilted my lips up to meet his, to moan into his mouth as I rubbed my palm along his length. It twitched at the contact, and my mouth watered, like I wanted to taste it, like I wanted to know what it felt like going down my throat.
I blame the dirty books.
With a groan, Clay lowered himself, taking his mouth from mine and his cock out of reach with one movement.
I pouted, but he only smiled, shaking his head like I was going to be the death of him. “I need to focus,” he explained.
“On wha—”
But I didn’t have time to finish, because in the next breath, Clay ran his hand under the hem of my tank top, pushing it up and over the swells of my breasts. It was brute force, the fabric shoved up around my neck and my breasts exposed without warning. The cool air had my nipples peaked, along with the way Clay’s eyes swam over them, taking in every inch of them before his palm found me again.
A breathy hiss left me at the touch, at how tightly my thigh muscles clenched when his hand touched me there. I pushed up into the pillows so I could watch, so I could see his thumb swiping over the top of my light mauve bud.
“It’s like… sparks,” I tried to explain through my panting, and Clay smirked, circling my nipple with his thumb as I whimpered and writhed.
“Some girls like it, some girls don’t,” he said. “How does it feel?”
“Hot.”
He chuckled. “Good hot, or bad hot?”
I considered the question, not really sure. It was a little of both, like touching my tongue to an acidic battery or a copper penny. It shocked me, and felt uncomfortable, but at the same time, I liked it.
At least, I thought.
When I didn’t answer, Clay settled lower between my legs, his chest pressed against my aching core now as he balanced on his elbows.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
I did, releasing a long breath.
And then, his mouth was on me.
I gasped, the sensation rocking through me violently as his tongue swirled over my nipple.
“Clay,” I breathed, and without meaning to, my hands shot for his hair, and I held on like those strands were reins.
“Good or bad?” he asked again.
“Good,” I breathed out, wetting my lips. “Very good.”
He smiled against my breast, and then his tongue was dancing, circling and flicking as little shots of electricity bolted down between my legs. Then, he sucked my nipple between his teeth, nipping so gently I barely registered it before he released me.