Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
We both know that’s not what he’s talking about at all. Oh, he doesn’t want to injure me further, but he’s not thinking about a little bruise that’ll be fine tomorrow. This goes deeper than that.
“My knee’s fine, and I know what I’m getting into, Chance Harrington. I’m okay with another hook-up. Are you?”
I’m not above playing dirty to get my way, so as I ask the question, I yank the neckline of my cami down, letting my breasts rest on top of it like a boobalicious balcony shelf. I tease my own stiff nipples, seeking some relief for the need coursing through me.
Chance reaches up, his fingers joining mine for a moment before he brushes me out of the way and squeezes my breasts roughly. I don’t know why he’s punishing me, or if it’s himself he’s punishing, but I don’t mind. I like it . . . a lot. The delightful pain sends sparks through my body, straight to my core, and I feel myself growing even wetter.
“It’s different now and you know it, Samantha. A semi-anonymous fuck in a hotel room is one thing. You’re part of my family’s circle. I know you. Not just what makes you come hard, but where your heart lies.” Though he’s talking about my heart, he’s massaging my breasts—plucking and pinching my nipples, cupping their fullness, and kneading them sharply.
He’s right. We do know each other better now, but that doesn’t mean this has to have strings attached. We can still be two people who have amazing sex and then go on with the very busy lives we’re passionate about.
“Please, I need it. I need you to fuck me,” I beg unashamedly.
If you’d asked me if I would have sex with a Harrington, I would’ve laughed my ass off and said you were out of your mind. But Chance is nothing like I thought he’d be. He’s kinder, sweeter, and smarter than I expected from a man born with a silver spoon up his ass, but also dirtier, sexier, and more generous with his time and attention to my body.
I do need to come. But equally as much, I need Chance to do it with me.
“Dammit.”
He’s up and off the couch in a blink, ripping his clothes off. “Turn over and lie flat. I don’t want to hurt your knee.”
More carelessly than I should, I pull my cami over my head and rip my panties off, then flip onto my belly, feeling the soft fabric of the couch tease at my nipples. With Chance behind me where I can’t see him, the anticipation builds, especially when I hear the tell-tale crinkle of a condom wrapper. I’m probably leaving a puddle on his expensive couch, but instead of being mortified, I’m amused at the idea of marking his impeccably clean space.
When Chance’s finger runs down my spine, I arch into his touch, lifting my ass as he swoops down my crack and into the wetness between my thighs. “I’m soaked for you,” I say, even though I know he can feel it.
His finger slips inside me easily, and he leans over me to whisper in my ear. “I want you to lie there and do nothing. Just take me. Can you do that?”
I nod eagerly.
Chance throws a leg over me, his knees on the couch on either side of me as he hovers, nearly sitting on the backs of my thighs. He takes hold of my ass, gripping full handfuls of flesh and squeezing them harshly, almost pinching me. It’s delightfully sharp, and I cry out, arching to give him even more access to my butt and even lower.
He shifts, and I feel his head at my entrance for a quick moment before he thrusts forward, filling me from behind with his big, hard cock. Chance grunts a primal, guttural sound as I welcome him into my body, stretching around him.
Moving his hands to my shoulders, he uses the leverage to stroke into me again with sure, deep thrusts that massage the front wall of my pussy, right where I’m most sensitive. “Good girl,” he praises me, and wetness floods between us.
If anyone else dared to call me a girl, I’d bitchily correct them that I’m a full-grown woman who should be respected as such. But apparently, I have a praise kink where Chance is concerned, and his rumbly voice saying ‘good girl’ gets me to the edge near instantly.
“Ohmagawd, Chance. Fuck my cunt hard. Whatever you want . . . please . . .” I’m mumbling so much that I don’t know if he can even understand me, especially with my face half-smushed into a couch pillow, but I hope he gets the point.
An arm wraps around my chest, lifting me slightly, and I glance back to see Chance looking wild-eyed and crazed. Prim, proper, well-mannered Chance has left the building, and in his place is Caveman Chance.