Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“Jesus,” he groaned, his lips launching a sensual attack against her neck, sucking that spot beneath her ear. “Don’t bother answering. Yes, you do, baby. Yes, you fucking do.”
There was really no excuse for the way he took her on that bed.
It was savage and desperate. Wells wasn’t exactly a stranger to hard, fast sex . . .
But this was not just that.
Every physical sensation had an emotional trigger point. He felt every thrust into her body like it was happening all over. In his chest, behind his trachea, deep in some unknown part of his gut. He couldn’t get close enough to Josephine, couldn’t keep his mouth off her delicious skin, trying to afford her as much pleasure as she was giving him, as if that were possible. He licked her neck, bit into the slopes of her shoulders, bruised her mouth with kisses, all while rocking into her body with a ferociousness he would have been ashamed of if she didn’t have her nails dug into his ass, screaming at him to go faster.
He framed her jaw firmly in his hand, tilting her face up. “All right, baby. Just keep your legs open and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
They fucked like Armageddon was right around the corner.
And they looked right into each other’s eyes while it happened.
Wells was on the verge of coming the entire time, because sweet hell, what she’d done to him in the shower would live forever in his spank bank, but he refused to let himself finish because then it would be over. And he never, ever wanted his time inside Josephine to be over. This full-body event that was shaking him, inside and out.
But then she started arching her back and making hiccupping sounds, her hands flying from his ass to the bedspread, twisting it in twin grips. He felt her pussy start to pulse with more insistence and there was no way he could hold off any longer.
Christ. He was done for.
She was the most beautiful goddamn thing he’d ever seen and so fucking tight, he was plagued with the urgency to fill her up. Mentally pleading with his balls to wait just a little longer, Wells reached down and used his middle and ring finger to play with her clit, shouting a curse when he felt exactly how soaked she’d gotten while he fucked her so unbelievably hard. She moaned at his touch, hands twisting and back arching, showing her bouncing tits off to him like a fucking meal—and thank God she hit her peak at that moment, because he went off like a bomb.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he dragged out, rubbing her clit as long as possible before he had to find his own anchor, planting a fist on the bed so he could get those final, deep strokes that were made a million times more incredible by her clenching flesh, her husky cries of his name. “Fuck taking breaks from each other, Josephine,” he rasped in her ear, raking his mouth over it from side to side. “You feel how done I am with breaks from you, baby?”
“Yes.”
He gave her one last, rough drive, making her gasp, the final dregs of hunger and pressure and misery leaving his body. “Say you’re done, too,” he demanded.
“I’m done. I’m done!”
“Damn right you are,” he growled, licking the sweat from her throat like a certified wild animal freed from its cage for the first time. Wells collapsed onto Josephine, perspiration and water cooling on their skin for long, heavy minutes, before he tucked her into his side, wrapped them in the comforter, and finally, finally, got to hold his caddie in a bed.
They were asleep in seconds.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Josephine opened her eyes and stared at the outstretched man hand resting on her pillow. Perhaps it was her vigorously satisfied libido talking, but my goodness, that was the most beautiful hand she’d ever laid eyes on. Had it been sculpted by Bernini? Blunt fingernails and calluses and color from the sun. It was attached to the firm biceps beneath her cheek and she had the urge to sit up and study the rest of him, but that would require moving and that wasn’t happening. Not yet.
The steady in and out of Wells’s breath sifted through her hair and warmed the nape of her neck, every inch of his contoured chest rising and falling against her back. Their legs were tangled together, her bare butt tucked into his lap—and while the rest of Wells was asleep, there was a certain part of him that was wide awake.
Josephine was torn between the urge to rub her backside against him, to tempt him into a replay of what they’d done last night—and never moving again. Ever. Why wouldn’t she lie there in the hazy dawn light as long as possible with someone she’d fallen for? If missing him horribly for a week hadn’t been enough to convince her that Wells had wiggled his way under her skin, yesterday would have done it.