Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“Hotter than July, woman. Tell me you needed that, Lilah. Do not bullshit me.”
I don’t dare.
I just release a satisfied whimper and collapse against the desk into a pile of sex-wrecked jelly.
Then he lets me go.
I don’t have the strength to get up, to even look back at him. Not when that orgasm obliterated me and still somehow left me wanting more.
And I realize he’s about to bring it—that’s why he let me go—when I hear a familiar crinkling sound. A condom wrapper ripping open.
Okay, now I have to look, have to watch him.
I twist to glance over my shoulder.
I need to see it.
Just like I need to see the feral glint in his eyes.
I need to see the heat darkening his face, relaxing into slack pleasure as he frees his thick cock from his slacks, from the boxers underneath, and smooths his hand over its full length as he slides the condom on.
Anaconda.
That’s the only word that comes to mind.
His cock is a battering ram, pulsing with hunger and so thick I wonder if I could even close my fingers around it.
Holy hell, this might hurt—but if it does, it’s the kind of pain that’s worth it.
My core burns, wanting him to stretch me, to claim me, to really make me his.
His eyes lock on mine.
“The hell you looking at, darlin’? You like what you see?”
The way I bite my lip gives away my answer.
He’s so close, heat radiating off him, burning my bare flesh.
It’s like we’re on our own private wavelength, where my body can already feel him inside me, and it pulses with the emptiness of knowing he’s not there yet.
But I think he’s waiting.
For me to say the final words that will let him off his leash.
It’s heavy, knowing a man like this will hold himself back for you when it’s got to be killing him.
Underneath his brooding and slow-talking stillness, there’s a savage, and he’s holding back until I say ravage me.
“Lucas,” I whisper, stretching my arms across the desk and curling my fingers against the edge, bracing and ready as I spread my legs as far as the snare of my jeans around my thighs will let me. “Lucas, please.”
His only answer is a rumbling hot snarl.
Then I feel it.
The head of his cock, pulsing against me, spreading me open one slow, rough push, so close to—
His hand curls against my shoulder, thick and possessive.
I brace myself, holding in a breath.
I don’t even try to force back my raw, needy cry as he slams into me in a single gliding thrust, his hips crashing against my ass as he sinks in deep.
So deep.
God, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anyone else bottom out like Lucas.
He strokes unclaimed places, filling me with this heavy warmth that drains my strength, leaving me helpless to the burning friction, the scorching thrust, the pure unrestrained power radiating off him.
Guttural delight torches the air as he growls his pleasure.
He grinds into me hard, yet his thrusts are so controlled.
Like he knows exactly what drives me crazy with every precisely timed, measured drive of thick, teasing flesh.
I feel him so deep it’s almost shameful.
Wave after wave of screaming pleasure picks me up and slams me down again as he fucks me against the desk, open and begging.
I’m not sure anymore if I’m screaming or moaning or sobbing.
Holy hell, what is this?
I didn’t know sex with this much violent emotion existed.
I’m too sensitive, I almost can’t stand it—but I’m already hooked.
And he gives me more, his hulking body arched over me, intensifying every thrust when his hips swing forward like a hammer made flesh.
His mouth pelts my shoulders with kisses, with bites, with fire.
His hand slips under me, taking my breast in his palm.
His thumb and forefinger find my nipple, teasing me with rough tugs, twisting.
The friction alone is enough to rob my voice away in broken gasps.
Every thrust only kindles me hotter like he’s setting me on fire with pure friction.
And I’m gone in the crash and flow and rhythmic scrape of the legs of the desk, tossing my head back against his shoulder as I—
Oh, shit.
There—right there, where he fits against me and touches something that ignites like dynamite.
I toss my head back against his shoulder, losing his rhythm as my body finds its own, spasming and rocking and writhing under him.
This sweet tension bolts through me so hard it locks me around him, making it worse as I imprint him on me from the inside out.
And he’s trying to move again but I won’t let him.
I can’t, not with the convulsions ripping through me, turning me into a vessel for Lucas Graves.
“Fuck, Delilah, you’re killing me,” he grinds out. “Make it fucking hurt, Lilah. This is all for you.”
It’s only when our collision peaks that I realize he’s stopped moving, staying buried deep inside me to the hilt.