Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“The day we met, I thought you were so innocent and sweet.” He struggled for control as I continued to ride him.
Leaning forward, I grazed my tongue along his bottom lip. “The day we met, I thought about biting you.”
“Fuck. Who are you?”
Delighted, I took his lower lip between my teeth and tugged, clenching my core muscles at the same time. “Just the girl next door.” I laughed. “Are you sorry you invited me over to play?”
“No.” He brought his hands to my ass. “But goddammit, you’re making me crazy.”
I let him keep his hands on me because they felt good, and I moved over him harder and faster, my body tightening around him. My breath was quick and shallow. “God, you feel so good. I want to come on that cock.”
“Jesus.” His body tensed. His fingers dug into my skin and his hips bucked up beneath me. “Fuck. I’m gonna—”
“Not yet,” I told him, nearly delirious with the need for release and the thrill of bossing him around. I was torn between wanting to let go and hang on.
“Come for me,” he growled. “Right fucking now.”
Unable to hold back any longer, I cried out with every pulse as the orgasm burst open inside me, and a moment later felt his climax surging from his body into mine. I rode it out until I was sure I’d wrung every last drop from him—his low, guttural moans accompanying my high-pitched sighs.
“Fuck, that was mean,” he said after I collapsed onto his chest. His heart was thumping hard.
“I quite liked it,” I panted. “I felt very powerful.”
“Witchcraft.” He pinched my ass.
I smiled. “Babe, I had the sexy black underwear. I didn’t even need witchcraft.”
He laughed, and I realized how much I loved the sound. “But will you take it off now?”
I picked up my head, surprised. “Okay.”
He watched as I slipped the lingerie from my body, then reached for me, pulling me down so I lay atop him, head on his chest.
We stayed like that for a moment, our breath still returning to normal, our pulses slowing. He began to run his palms up and down my back. As I stared at the moonlight slanting through his blinds, a childhood memory surfaced.
“When I was young, I hated nighttime,” I confessed. “I thought there were monsters under my bed.”
“Yeah?”
“I was so scared of them. I’d lie there frozen with fear, too scared to even go get my dad, because I knew for sure that as soon as I put my feet on the floor, that monster would grab my ankles.”
Dex kept rubbing my back with slow, reassuring strokes.
“Sometimes, if I worked up enough nerve, I’d stand up on the mattress and take a running jump as far away from the bed as I could and go racing for my dad’s room, which was all the way on the first floor of our house—this was before he even got remarried.”
“And what would he do?”
“Sometimes it was enough for him to just check and make sure nothing was there. Sometimes he would lie down with me until I fell asleep.” I chuckled at a memory. “Sometimes he’d bring the ‘monster repellent’ and spray it under my bed.”
“That’s fucking smart.”
“It was. He was a great dad, just like you are.” My smile faded. “Eventually I outgrew the fear of monsters under my bed. But I guess I never stopped hating the feeling of being left alone at night. Later, my therapist helped me unpack that a bit. She thought it was related to being abandoned by my mom so young. I was afraid everyone I loved would leave me that way, and I didn’t feel safe.”
His arms closed around me. “I’m sorry. That makes me want to go back and give little Winifred a hug.”
“Grownup Winifred likes hugs too.” I smiled again, even though my throat felt tight. “In fact, little Winifred grew up craving affection and attention so much that she became a love junkie. When someone made her feel special, she grasped it like a lifeline so she wouldn’t drown in her worst fear.”
Dex’s hands stopped moving. “What was her worst fear?”
“That deep down, she was unlovable.” I took a breath. “But now she knows that isn’t true—or at least, she’s working on it.”
“I hope so,” he said quietly.
I picked my head up so I could look at him. “Honestly, it’s much better than it used to be. I’ve had a lot of therapy, and I understand myself so much better than I used to. I still make terrible romantic choices sometimes, but I know I deserve to be with someone who makes me feel good about myself and not just lucky to be with them.”
“Fuck yes, you do.”
“And I’m not scared of monsters under my bed anymore.” Then I laughed. “But there is this one ogre who likes to mess with me . . .”