Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
We’re silent as his fingers grip the zipper to my shorts, tugging it down one rivet at a time, peeling my shorts open until he can see the lacy black edge of my panties. I tremble, panting, aching for him. His hands leave my shorts like that—peeled open, and when his finger traces over the waist of my thong panties, I know without question that I’ve never been wetter. Not even close.
Marshall’s fingers tug at the waist, peeling the lace from my skin as my breath catches and my pulse thunders. One thick finger slips under lacy fabric, pushing lower, and lower—teasing me, making me squirm and writhe and clench my toes and ache for more as he slips it lower under my panties. I’ve shaved bare for him—well, for my mystery man, for tonight. And he growls when he feels the baby-smooth skin of my mons as his finger slips lower towards the slick, swollen lips of my pussy.
And then, millimeters from touching me there, Marshall stops. I can see his arm tighten as he clenches is muscles, and when he suddenly starts to pull his hand from my panties, I cringe as the whine of disappointment catches on my tongue. He pulls his hand away, and then he himself steps back from me, his eyes wild and fierce, his face haggard and drawn, his jaw tight.
“Go, Kendall.”
My face falls, just as my heart drops into my stomach.
“Marshall—”
“Go,” he growls, fire blazing in his eyes as he nods at the door. I let our eyes lock for one more second before I whirl, my face burning hot as fire with embarrassment as I yank his door open and go fleeing down the hall.
Chapter 5
Marshall
Both Amy and Kendall are gone in the morning.
Thank. Fucking. God.
I’ve been up half the night, pulse roaring, cock throbbing—fucking tweaking like I’m an addict without a fix. And nothing—and I do mean nothing—has come close to soothing the ache that came with sending her away and denying her. Here I am hours later, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, and still fucking hard even after stroking my cock four fucking times last night.
Four times. What am I, a fucking teenager again?
But four times, I thought of Kendall, and the taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressing to mine, and of every single thing the darkest part of me wants to do to her, until I came. Four times I groaned, seeing only her in my mind and remembering the way her tongue danced with mine and the way she moaned so eagerly as my thick cock pulsed in my fist, hot cum splattering down over my knuckles and my abs, and running in little rivulets down my cock and balls. And here it is morning, and I’m still hard.
Still wanting her. Still not having come her out of my damn system. I mean how the fuck am I going to last this summer with her in my house? The truth is, I’m not sure I am.
With the house empty, I start my day. I shower, shave, get some food in my stomach. I go for a long, arm-aching, pulse-thundering swim, until my shoulders scream for mercy. I hit the gym after that, and after that, I run five miles.
…But she’s still there, just lingering in the front of every single one of my thoughts.
Kendall, my weakness. My forbidden hunger. My undoing.
It’s later, when I’m relaxing in the steam room, that the thought hits me like a bat to the side of the head. I sit bolt upright, my mind whirling and every part of me wondering how the hell I haven’t gone down this trail of questions before. Because with all the distraction of realizing Kendall was Cherry Pie, and trying to swallow that whole pill, there’s a very basic, very important question that I’ve been ignoring.
How the fuck did Kendall Shaw get into the virginity auction on The Society’s private website to begin with?
I growl as I storm out of the steam room, grabbing my phone and calling Javier.
“Mr. Bane.”
“Mr. Luca.”
I hear Javier chuckle on the other end of the line. This formal “mister” shit is just a game we play, even if most Society members probably have a much more professional relationship with their club liaison. That’s what Javier is—my liaison. He comes with the membership. He’s almost like a personal assistant, meets hotel concierge, meets fixer, meets… shit, whatever else he needs to be. Girls, drugs, whatever.
Javier and I, though, we’re more on the same level. I don’t look at him like a manservant like a lot of members look at their liaisons. Maybe it’s because I didn’t come from money. But in any case, aside from scoring me rare bottles of vintage bourbon, I mostly use Javier for information. Which is exactly why I’m calling him today.