Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I slide my hands down, gripping her ass cheeks. The angle is awkward, but it’s worth it to squeeze onto those round fleshy treats as I growl and moan and feast.
She twitches her hips against me, wriggling from side to side the quicker I lick, nibble, own.
“Drench my fucking mouth,” I snarl. “I need to taste you, all of you. Do you understand me, you curvy beautiful sex goddess?”
“Y-y-yes,” she moans, barely pushing the word out.
I slide my tongue down, driving it into her soaked slit and grinding my upper lip against her clit at the same time, gulping and swallowing and taking as many of her pre-orgasmic juices as I can.
She gasps and her hips start to buck and writhe like she’s trying to squirm away from the vise grip of my desire.
But I squeeze onto her tighter, feeling every reverberation of her pleasure in the way her ass cheeks shake delectably for me, so meaty I feel my seed roaring and surging inside of me, hungry to explode up my starving shaft.
“Oh—my—fuck—fuck …”
I greedily lap at her cunt as the orgasm claims her.
She writhes against my face, her pussy sliding up and down my tongue, her lips, and then I swallow and gulp and taste as much of her squirting juices as I can, letting them fill my mouth as she gushes out her pleasure juices.
There’s even more than I anticipated and I almost howl—I would howl if it didn’t mean taking my mouth away from the fountain of her dirty glorious fucking orgasm.
Her moans dance in the air, just as sweet sounding as her singing earlier in the day, her pussy getting hotter than fire against my tongue as the last of her orgasm thunders out of her.
“Jesus,” she whispers. “That was crazy.”
“You’re so goddamn hot, Dakota,” I growl, leaning back and reaching for my belt, hungry to free my insistent manhood and bring the tip to her pink wet hole.
“I need you,” I go on in a feral shiver. “I need to feel how tight and horny you are. I need to feel your … Dakota, what’s wrong?”
She’s looking at me with shivering lips, eyes wide, as though she’s on the verge of crying.
I let my hands drop from my belt.
“What is it?”
“I … I want to,” she says, sitting up, squeezing onto her thighs in a sign of anxiety.
I have to tell myself that.
It’s a sign of anxiety.
Because the way her fingers sink into the luscious meatiness of those thighs has me fucked up in a hundred ways.
“But I don’t … I don’t think I can …”
“I’ll never force you to do anything,” I tell her firmly. “You can talk to me. What is it?”
“It’s—Can I get dressed?”
“Of course,” I say, even as a savage part of me roars that the answer is no, no fucking way.
I beat down that aspect of me and stand up, forcibly turning to face the window because otherwise pouncing on her again will be impossible to resist. After half a minute of me staring at the snow-laden forest, she clears her throat.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I turn, shaking my head. “Dakota, you have nothing to be sorry about.”
“But you were so ready to go and I just spoiled the moment.”
“Just tell me,” I say. “Whatever it is, we can—
“I’m a virgin, Damian,” she snaps.
Chapter Twelve
Dakota
I turn toward the fire, letting its heat kiss at my face. Maybe if I start crying – which I very much don’t want to do – the flames will dry my tears before Damian notices.
It’s so silly, the way this revelation can bring me near to tears when everything that happened in Dobry’s estate left me dry-eyed and empty inside.
But that’s the thing. Damian leaves me anything but empty. It’s not even the after-shocks of the orgasm tingling through my body, the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my life, his mouth pressed against me, consuming me, claiming me.
It’s everything else—the closeness, the budding emotion.
He told me my singing voice was beautiful.
Nobody’s ever said that before.
“I know, it’s sad,” I go on, conscious that he hasn’t said anything. I can feel his gaze on me. “I’m nineteen years old and … Well, what do you want me to say? It’s not like I was ever sought after in high school. I was invisible, spending most of my time in the library. Or I’d find a quiet place in the fields, a little corner, and sing softly to myself. But never loud. I didn’t want anybody else to hear. Do you see, Damian? I was a freak in high school.”
He walks slowly behind me and brings his hands to my shoulders.
I imagine him spinning me around and sneering in my face, laughing huskily and telling me I’m pathetic, telling me to get out of his sight.
I led him on, he says in this twisted waking nightmare, and now I have to brave the cold and the Bratva on my own.