Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Christ almighty,” he breathed—prayed?—not quite sure where to look. At her beautiful face, adorned with a slightly nervous smile? Or maybe those pretty, perfectly shaped little pink-and-cream breasts? What about that delightfully dipped-in waist or that flat tummy? No, maybe his eyes should feast on the immaculately manicured V at the junction of her thighs. Yeah, that’s where his eyes wanted to be; that’s where his hands, mouth, tongue, and cock wanted to be as well. He groaned softly.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, and her smile widened.
“That’s the idea.”
“You’re fucking gorgeous.”
“And you’re a little overdressed.”
Jesus. So much for his vow not to let her dictate the pace of this relationship. He’d had no intention of making love to her tonight, but how the hell was he supposed to resist this?
“Come on, Spencer, show me some skin,” she pouted, tugging at his pajama collar, slipping her fingers between the gaps in the front to get at the skin beneath. He fought for control as he unfastened the top button and stepped back to tug it over his head and off. She gave a delighted little purr that turned into an undignified squawk when he unceremoniously pulled his top over her head and yanked her arms into the armholes before dragging it down over her hips and thighs.
He heaved a sigh of relief when she was somewhat covered and leaned in to give her shocked mouth a hot, brief kiss. She folded her arms over her chest and met his eyes defiantly. He was alarmed to see a touch of hurt beneath the bluster.
“Why’d you do that?”
“For my sanity,” he said, smoothing a thumb over one of her cheeks. “You eat?”
“I’m not here to eat. Look, Spencer, this teenage petting business is not what I signed up for. I mean, it was cute at first, but it’s beginning to get old. It’s time we get down to business, don’t you think?”
“That’s a shame, really. Since I didn’t get to pet you when we were teenagers, and I was just making up for lost time and lost opportunities.”
He could see her fighting back a smile at those words, but she tamped down her amusement.
“Well, I think you’ve more than made up for lost time. So why not just get down to the nitty-gritty?”
“Hmm.” His thumb moved from her cheek to the sensitive spot just below her earlobe. She shuddered, forgetting what else she’d been about to say, and leaned into his touch. He stroked his thumb to the hollow of her throat and lingered there while he dipped his head for another thirsty kiss. She opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue with an appreciative moan. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she strained up onto her toes, trying to get as close to him as she could, trying to dictate the pace again . . . He drew back, ignoring her frustrated sob.
“How was your day, darling?” he asked, and she glared at him.
“Are you kidding me with this?”
“With what?”
“This! Whatever the hell this is! What are you doing? This is not how it’s supposed to go.”
“How what’s supposed to go?” he asked patiently.
“You’re maddening,” she seethed. “Our no-strings sex thing.”
“I’m not too familiar with the rules of such a thing. I’m just playing it by ear.”
“It’s not that complicated! We have sex. That’s it. You’re being deliberately—humph.” He shut her up with another kiss. A long, deep, intense kiss.
Before she quite knew what was happening, they were on the sofa. She was flat on her back and he was nestled between her thighs, his hard cock grinding up against her mound.
“You feel so hot and hard, Spencer. I want to feel you naked against me. Please.” Daff had never begged a man for sex. Had never really wanted to. She’d been happy to let her previous partners control the pace, the mood, the setting . . . the genre. That probably wasn’t the right word, but that’s what came to mind: the type of sex. Rough, gentle, oral (for men only, of course, selfish bastards), missionary . . . rough. Mostly rough. Scary rough. Spencer didn’t seem like the type of guy who would take it to that place, but neither had her last partner. So Daff wanted to be the one to do the picking and choosing this time. She wanted to dictate the pace. But Spencer wasn’t playing ball. He had his own set of rules, and it was confusing and frightening.
Did he want what the others had wanted? What they had assumed she would want and had then taken without real consent? If she offered it to him, that would still be a way of maintaining control, wouldn’t it? She was mulling it over, only half-aware of him unbuttoning her top and tracing kisses down her chest. It was only when his hot, hungry mouth latched on to her breast that she was brought back to the very pleasurable present.