Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
He reaches into his pocket and produces a condom, and for just a moment I consider tossing it away. I’m on the pill, and the delay that a condom gives is already too long, giving me time to feel how out there on a ledge I am with this man, how into this man I am. But he’s unzipping his pants, and being the logical, smart person I am, I also remind myself that condoms protect us from many things. Clinical isn’t emotional.
I reach for his pants, but it’s like this man senses and shuts down the roadblock my mind throws between us, because he doesn’t put the condom on. He scoops me up into his arms and starts walking. In those moments, naked and cradled in his arms, I am again aware of how affected I am by this man, how vulnerable that makes me. He cuts between the couches to an oversize plush gray cloth chair and ottoman. It’s large enough that he goes down on it with me, behind me, my body curled in front of his.
He shifts behind me, and I can I hear the tearing of foil, that condom now in place, his pants disappearing. Once he’s naked, his cock thick between my legs, and his big, wonderful body curved around mine, that condom doesn’t feel so clinical. I don’t feel it at all. I feel his hand on my breast, his erection up and down in the wet heat of my aching sex. It’s torture. I need everything I don’t have right now.
“Reese—”
He thrusts into me, hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt and moaning with the impact. I moan with him and gasp when he shifts my hips, finding a deeper spot. There is no time to revel in the fullness of him inside me, the completeness my body needs. He thrusts again, and the movement radiates through me. I grab his hand where it holds my breast. I arch into him, against him, pressing toward the next pump of his hard body inside mine.
In a remote part of my mind, I think of the absence of his mouth. I want to kiss him. I want him to want to kiss me. I know the irony of this. I want barriers. I don’t want to be vulnerable, but I want his mouth. I want all I can get of this man right now, and that is when he does that thing he does again, where he reads my mind. He pulls out of me and turns me around, his leg between mine, his hand under my hair around my neck. His mouth is a breath from mine as he presses back inside me. His cock thrusts inside me at the same moment his tongue strokes my tongue.
With him touching me, kissing me, pressing inside me, the bloom of orgasm is swift. I want to hide from it. I want to stay here, in the middle of bliss. I want to die here, a happy woman, but he is pumping into me, hands on my body, driving me wild, and I am weak. I stiffen, frozen in the moment before I shatter, my body clenching the hard length of him and shooting darts of pure, white-hot bliss to every nerve ending I own.
A guttural sound escapes his lips, and he buries himself deep and hard inside me, shuddering his own release. I want to move, to push against him, to be a part of his pleasure as he was, and is, mine, but I am paralyzed in the aftermath of back-to-back orgasms.
For a few moments, the world fades and we are lost in a bubble that consumes only us, where no one else can intrude, and where nothing but satisfaction exists. When we finally return to the present, it’s not a bad place to be. He’s still inside me, his forehead pressed to mine, his breathing mingling with mine. He reaches up and gently drags his knuckles over my cheek. “Am I still a stranger, Cat?”
“You’re still an asshole,” I murmur.
He smiles.
“Of course I am. But am I still a stranger?”
I don’t answer. It’s feels like a trick, or a door that wants to be opened, one that I shouldn’t open, only I really want to kick it down. He tangles fingers in my hair and gently tugs until my gaze meets his. “Am I still a stranger, Cat?”
“Fucking me changes nothing. You’re still a stranger.”
“And if I want to change that?”
Another trick question. Another door I want to kick open, but I’m not a sadist. I don’t like pleasure that becomes pain. But when I open my mouth to tell him no, I can’t get myself to say it.
Chapter twelve
Cat
I’m saved from defining Reese as a stranger or otherwise when my cellphone rings and jolts me back to reality. “My agent. I was supposed to call her about that meeting with Dan. I’m sure he’s already called the publisher.” I try to roll away, but Reese doesn’t allow me such an easy escape.