Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
I pull in a breath and hold it, willing my thoughts away from that night, how good Wren felt wrapped around me, and the incomparable sweetness of being inside her. But it isn’t easy, not when the scene of the crime is less than ten feet away.
“This may sting a bit,” she warns as she presses the cotton ball lightly to the worst of the scratches.
I don’t feel a thing except a sharp, electric awareness of the woman in front of me and a swelling behind my fly that isn’t good. Not good at all. Wren’s powers of observation are unparalleled, which means I have about two seconds to get her out of here before she notices my lack of control.
“Thanks, I can take it from here.” I stand, gripping her by the upper arms and moving her toward the door.
“What?” She blinks up at me as she shuffles across the mat in front of the sink. “But I haven’t cleaned them all and—”
“It’s fine, I can finish up alone. I’m sure you have things you need to do to get ready to go. I don’t want to keep you.”
She brushes my hands away, and pushes lightly on my stomach, urging me back against the sink. “Oh, come on, don’t be a baby. I promise, it won’t hurt that…” She trails off, her eyes widening as she notices my now fully mortifying erection. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” I grit out. “Oh.”
“Are you a secret masochist?”
I frown, the question the last thing I was expecting. “What?”
“A masochist. It’s someone who gets…aroused by pain.”
I exhale. “I know what a masochist is.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Are you a masochist?” she asks. “Did the sting of the alcohol make you feel…a certain kind of way?”
“No, Wren,” I say, frustrated by her insistence on this inane conversation. “I’m not a masochist. I’m half naked and you’re standing in front of me, touching me.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? That’s all it takes?”
“That’s all it takes,” I say, my hands reaching for her before I give them conscious permission. And then, suddenly, Wren’s arms are around my neck and her lips are on mine and we’re kissing like starving people falling upon a plate full of food for the first time in weeks.
But for us, it’s been months. Well, for me, at least. From the moment I slid inside Wren, no other woman has held the slightest appeal.
“There hasn’t been anyone else,” I rumble against her lips as I reverse our positions, lifting her up onto the edge of the sink and moving between her spread legs. “Not since that night. The thought of touching another woman makes my skin crawl.”
“You make my skin crawl, but in a good way,” she says, moaning softly as I cup her breast through her thin spring sweater. “How do you do that? Make me want to rip off my clothes with just a kiss?”
“You should do that,” I say, squeezing her ass, relishing the way her strong, curvy backside fits perfectly in my hands. “Take your sweater off. I want your nipples in my mouth.”
“My sister is in the kitchen,” she hisses, but she doesn’t put up a hint of resistance as I reach for the bottom of the light green sweater and pull it over her head. “We can’t have sex in the bathroom.”
“We won’t have sex,” I assure her as I pop the close on her bra, biting back a groan as the fabric falls forward, baring her breasts. “I’ll just show you how much I’ve missed you. My pants will stay on the entire time.”
“But I—” She sucks in a breath, her head falling back as I bend to drag my tongue across one taut nipple. “But what if I want your pants to come off?”
“Sorry,” I murmur as I get my hands involved, cupping and squeezing her softness as I worship her nipples with my mouth. “A wise woman told me her sister was in the kitchen and we can’t have sex.”
“I think I hate you,” she says, her breath coming faster as her fingers dig into my shoulders.
“Will you still hate me if I rip off your panties and eat your pussy like it’s my sole purpose on earth?” I ask, my cock jerking in my pants as she slides off the sink and lifts her skirt.
I reach for the top of her satin panties—pale green, just like her bra—and drag them to the floor. Staying on my knees, I urge Wren’s right leg up and over my shoulder. I cradle her ass in my hands and bend my head to her sweetness. It was too dark the night in the hallway to see every inch of the pussy I was devouring. This is the first time I’ve seen her this way, and she’s even more perfect than I imagined.
“So beautiful,” I say, pressing a reverent kiss to her slick pink skin, relishing the taste of her salt on my tongue as I tease between her folds. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”