Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
"Breathe, vixen." His voice softens. "Slowly."
I suck a breath through my teeth. Push it through my nose.
Then a little slower. Easier.
The pressure fades to something bearable.
Then he pushes his fingers deeper.
Deeper.
"Fuck." I reach for something to steady myself.
My wrists catch on his tie. I'm bound. Powerless. At his mercy.
It makes my thighs shake. My breath catch. My toes curl.
I turn my head. Let my eyes flutter closed. Let words fall from my lips. "More."
He pulls his fingers back and drives them into me again.
Slowly at first. Then faster. Faster.
At a perfect, steady rhythm.
He drives his fingers into me again and again.
Until the pain fades to pressure. And the pressure fades to pleasure. And it hurts in the best possible way.
He fucks me with his fingers.
When I'm sure I can't take it anymore, he brings his thumb to my clit. Draws slow circles exactly where I need him.
I come fast this time. It's harder, quicker, so hard it hurts.
I pulse against his fingers.
Everything inside me unravels.
Pleasure rocks through my body. That same wave, only this time it's not soft, easy light. It's hard and fast and intense enough to steal my breath.
Everything releases.
I melt into his body. A puddle. His to bend or break.
He pulls his hand back. Helps me into my panties and shorts. Out of his tie. Onto the bench.
Into my crop top.
No bra. He leaves that on the floor.
I understand immediately.
He likes taking trophies.
Maybe that should scare me, but it doesn't. The thought of him opening some drawer filled with my underwear, thinking of me, fucking himself to me—
It thrills me.
"Do you need to get home to your sister?" His eyes meet mine. "Or can I claim the rest of your afternoon?"
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ian
Eve places her napkin in her lap. Plays with the red edges.
Her eyes fix on me. The same look she had when she was seconds from coming.
She wants everything I have to give.
It fills an emptiness inside me.
It terrifies me, how badly I want to give her everything.
Sex, I understand.
The rest?
I haven't got a fucking clue.
Maybe that's bullshit.
What's the confusion here? We're sitting at an Italian restaurant in Midtown, surrounded by business lunches, propriety, air-conditioning.
Because I want to make sure she's eating. Because I want to hear every one of her thoughts. Because I want to soak up that look in her eyes—
Like I'm the most fascinating subject she's ever found.
"We were next to Little Italy." She takes a sip of her ice water. Swallows hard. "Is this place that good?"
No. It's the atmosphere I need. A busy restaurant with no private spaces.
She's too tempting. I don't trust myself with her.
Already, I want all of her. Her body, her bliss, her attention.
The curiosity in her grey-green eyes. The proud lift of her chest. The soft blush on her cheeks.
She's fascinating. I want to stay here with her forever. Until I understand her completely.
I make an excuse. "Little Italy is a tourist trap." It's true, even if it's not my reason. There are gems, sure, but most of the places are far too expensive and crowded for the quality.
"It's a little much sometimes." She looks around the restaurant, taking in every detail with care.
Square tables—close together, but not as close as the average Manhattan restaurant. White tablecloths. Red napkins.
Oak. Soft lighting. Exposed bright.
"I never eat there. Well, not pasta. Addie and I go to this really cute matcha place that's just… really extra. And this ice cream place with good non-dairy flavors. She's trying to go vegan, but I think that's just an excuse to eat more ice cream."
"Good mint chip?"
Her smile is soft. "The best."
I bite my tongue so I won't offer to take her. That's a statement of intent. An entirely different kind of intent.
She doesn't notice. "You're kind of like the matcha place. In a totally different way. Very extra."
"Extra?"
"Yeah… extra. Someone who's more than normal in some way. Like I am, with my hair and style. Or you, with your suit."
"People still say extra?"
She laughs. "You are doubting my slang?"
I nod.
"Well… I guess I don't know. I haven't seen anyone from school since I graduated. And I'm still working on bringing back randy."
"I hope it catches on."
"Me too." Her expression softens. "You are extra. You always look like James Bond." She motions to my silver tie-clip. "Not a thread out of place."
"Not anymore."
Her blush deepens. She fights her shyness.
It's adorable. And sexy as hell.
Eve isn't a shy woman. I know how to push her buttons.
I want to push them all day, every day.
When was the last time I felt like this?
I live a full life. Enjoy the company of friends, colleagues, lovers.
Never someone who fascinates me like she does.
No one fascinates me like she does.
"You fly helicopters, right?" she asks.
I nod.
"Do you wear that?"
"Sometimes."
"Really?" Her eyes fill with surprise. "You're messing with me."
"Maybe."
"Teasing." Her smile widens. "Is that what this was? The dress thing? You're teasing."