Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Please.” My voice broke a little with the word, my weakness showing, but I needed him. Right now, I felt too confused, too lost, too conflicted. I was grateful to him, but also mad. I swooned at his protection, but struggled with the realities of it. I needed to be grounded, I needed to feel loved, and I wanted, more than anything on this earth, to feel a physical connection with him. “I need it. You want it. Please.”
“I’m worried…” His thumb, which had been gently swiping over my wet slit, pushed its way inside.
I almost came off the counter and saw the way his eyes darkened, his need as greedy as mine. How was he controlling himself? It’d been a month since he walked into The House. A month, a dozen orgasms, and I needed more. I can’t love you and not protect you. That’s what he’d said. “Worried about what?” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulder, and this needed to happen right now. I needed to have this moment to right my sails, calm my emotions, and comfort my body.
When our eyes met, I saw his pull of emotion, saw the depth of his feelings. He destroyed their lives. For me. It didn’t make sense, it was too early, we didn’t know each other well enough, but fuck his I think I’m falling in love with you. He loved me. I loved him. Whether he put his dick in me or not—those facts weren’t changing.
He dropped his gaze, concentrating on my pussy, and he crouched and lowered his mouth to the spot, his eyes closing as he ran his tongue along the folds, circled my clit, then gently sucked it as if he was a man desperate of thirst. He dipped his tongue inside of me, his hands biting into my thighs, and I let out a quiet moan as he straightened, his gaze still stuck to my open legs.
I spread them wider. “Please.”
Had I ever begged for it before? I didn’t think so. I didn’t think I had ever needed it like this before. It was a craving that hummed through my entire body, one that had my ass gently grinding against the counter the minute his hand settled in between my legs. He pushed a finger inside of me and I almost bucked off the surface. He pushed a second in, and I grabbed at the air, found his tie, and yanked the silk-blend fabric toward me.
His lips came down on mine, he curved his fingers inside of me, and I saw stars—the sort that brought orgasms in their wake, the kind that exploded pleasure centers and made me pant against his kiss, a low moan coming from my throat.
“If I have you, I’ll never be able to let you go.”
I babbled his name and clawed at his hair, his fingers gently massaging my g-spot, a smooth in and out and ohmygod motion that had me losing everything but the taste of his kiss, the feel of his touch, a need that was spiraling out of control and into something more.
If he didn’t give me something, if he didn’t pull out his cock and push this giant ache of want, I’d go crazy. I yanked at his belt, cursed against his kiss, and lost all reason when he quickened the motion of his fingers. “Oh my god, don’t stop. Please. Please. Fuck. I. I. I….”
He yanked me to the counter’s edge and worked a third wet finger inside. It took just the pressure, the wide stretch of entry, and I broke.
My hips furiously bucked against his hand.
His name rained from my lips, a mad chant of love and need and desire.
My vision blurred, fingers dug into his skin, clawed at his clothes, and found nothing but rigid muscle and heat.
I came in an avalanche of blinding, gripping glory, and I swore allegiance to him in the final moments of the blast.
I broke. I fell. I surrendered it all.
Twenty-Six
DARIO
Gwen was curled into a ball on the chaise lounge, a cup of coffee in hand. He stopped before her, holding out his hand. “Help me with these links?”
She carefully set down the cup of steaming coffee and reached forward, fastening the buttons and cufflinks with quick efficiency.
He nodded at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be heading out to lunch?”
She made a face before settling back against the padded upholstery. “I’m just putting it off as long as I can.”
He moved to the sofa, picking up the open laptop. “Did we get the projections from Tim?”
“Yeah. I left them open. Twelve percent higher than the Britney show.”
He said nothing, scrolling down the document, his eyes moving over the numbers.
“One of us should meet with them.”
He grimaced. “In San Diego?”
She reached for her coffee, studying the caramel depths of it. “You didn’t come home last night.”