Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“Let me look at you.”
I tilt my chin even as I lean against the windowsill to help my unsteady knees, yet I find I feel a certain kind of deliciousness being naked before him, especially as he’s still fully clothed. A kind of power play. As his gaze devours every inch of me, turning my nipples to hard points and deepening the ache between my legs, there’s no doubt in my mind who has the upper hand.
Those dark eyes. The hard outline of him, like a gun ready to go off.
All mine.
Because of me.
I have the winning hand here.
I’m not sure if he reaches for me or I for him. All I know is I’m in his arms, and our mouths are all gasps, clashing teeth, and questing tongues. My fingers pluck at the back of his shirt, desperate in my pursuit to feel his heat. His skin.
Success. I smile against his mouth as my hands slide under the cotton, the reaction swallowed by his growl of approval as he brings our bodies closer by clasping handfuls of my butt.
“Fuck, this ass.”
I whimper, and my knees physically weaken as he presses his teeth where my neck and shoulder meet. “Not a chance,” I manage to reply, though that wasn’t exactly his intention, judging by his deep chuckle.
“This ass looks as though it was honed by the hands of God.”
I press my lips over his. This is a truth he doesn’t need to hear. That this body was honed by hours in the gym. Too many hours lately, if I acknowledge the truth, even if this is an odd time to do so. As my life has spiralled this past month and I’d fallen into old patterns. Patterns of punishing exercise and extreme portion control. Everyone has their coping mechanism the nefarious voice whispers from the back of my head. At least your vice is healthy.
Whether it is or isn’t is a question for another day, all thoughts vanishing as hard presses soft, and his erection a sudden and solid presence between my legs.
Maybe not vanish but replaced by other things.
Things like getting him naked.
Getting my eyes on him.
My mouth.
Just everything.
“You’re so pretty.” His eyes dilate like a drop of dark ink on a blank sheet of paper before he presses me back against the windowsill, framing my breasts with his hands. “So fucking perfect.” His thumbs stroke the hardened points of my nipples when he bends to run his tongue across each in turn. The sight of him there does something to me, my lips parting with a sigh, his body an elegant arch before mine. But as his gaze crawls up my body, the sucking pull of his mouth sends a shower of sparks right through me, twisting my pleasure into something else entirely.
“Oh, my God.” I press his head closer, the sensation drawing at my very centre.
“Not quite.” His teeth flash white and wicked in the moonlight. “But I’ll gladly take you to heaven.”
“Big head,” I whisper through my own smile.
“Beautiful, I’m big all over.” As though I’d voiced any doubt, he lifts my hand to press it over his obvious erection. Embolden, I give it a little squeeze, and he grunts, his body bowing into my hand, the sound a puff of air against my cheek.
“Seeing is believing.” I run my palm over his hardness before tucking my fingers into his waistband, almost desperately plucking at his shirt.
“Do you want to see me put my mouth on you?” His hot whisper curls around my ear, exploding a little farther south. As he drops to his knees, I find I have a fistful of his shirt, and as he moves, I pull it up and over his head.
“That was some trick.” The blade sharpness of his cheekbones is more pronounced by the moonlight. His eyes darker and a little more wicked, the look echoed in his smirking half-smile. His body is everything I thought it would be, everything his wet shirt hinted at. Hard angles and slopes, his every muscle is defined. A thrill courses through me as I trail my fingers over his shoulders, his expertly trained muscles tensing beneath his skin.
“I don’t know,” I demur as he places his hands on my thighs. I grip the windowsill at my back, my own muscles tautening at his touch. At my anticipation. “I think you must be the one with all the tricks. How would I be the only one naked?”
“Maybe because you’re the one with the magic.” His voice is rough as his big hands slip between my thighs, spreading them wider. He presses two long fingers deep inside me, and I cry out, my body arching against the windowpane. The cold glass adds a layer of sensation as his hot mouth engulfs my clit with a velvety groan.