Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Yes. Yours. I’m all yours.” Her exhalation is shaky.
“Because you were made for me, weren’t you? You’ve always known it. I was just a little slower on the uptake.”
“Oh God, Whit,” she moans, throwing out her hands as she arches into me.
This time, I’m gentler with the zip, and it opens easily. I slip her dress down her arms. She’s not wearing a bra, and as the fabric slips over her hard nipples, she shivers and releases a soft moan. I drop her dress to the floor, turning back to slide her knickers down her legs. My hands tremble as I undo my belt and make quick work of the rest of my clothes, coming back to the bed.
“This is mine,” I whisper as I hook my hand under her knee, baring her to me. And because I can’t resist such a delectable sight, I swipe my tongue through her wetness with a lengthy groan.
“Oh God. What are you doing to me?”
“Owning you, my darling.” I begin to crawl my way up her body, tracing soft, open-mouthed kisses as I go. “Mine.” The jut of her hip bones. “Mine.” The soft flare of her hip. “Fucking mine.” The underside of her breast and the point of her nipple. “Only for me.”
“Whit, please.”
I press the length of my body against hers, my lips hot at her ear. “You are so wet for me, my darling. I want to drown myself in you.” She whimpers, her hand slipping between us in demand, but there’s a method in this torturous kind of madness as I take her hand and press it above her head. “This,” I say, laying my palm over her heart. “Your heart is mine, Amelia. I know you don’t want to admit it, but I see it in your eyes every time you look at me.”
She shakes her head staccato and breathes my name as her eyes turn the color of rain.
“I have your heart,” I whisper, pouring it into my words. “I have your heart, and you have mine.” Lifting her thigh, I drive my cock inside her. Her body bows beneath me, shuddering as I withdraw. Crying out as, with my next thrust, I grind against her.
“Please, please,” she begins to beg, her walls throbbing around me and dragging me closer to the edge.
“Yes, darling.” I work myself deep inside her as I whisper soft incantations and prayers. “Go ahead, beg me. Let me hear how much you want this. Let the walls shake with your cries. Tell me how you love me.” I know it’s unfair, and I didn’t plan for the evening to go this way, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to fuck the truth out of her.
“No, please.” Her free hand slides to my shoulder, pulling me down as her thighs yield to the press of mine. “I didn’t want to.” Her words are a hot sob in my ear. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
I turn my head, my mouth sliding over hers. “That’s why it’s called falling.” I gently bite her bottom lip. “There’s no stopping it. Only forward momentum.”
“Like slipping down a cliff,” she rasps with an unhappy laugh. “You’re not selling it to me.”
Her words sound wet, and though I hate this turmoil for her, I’m here for her admission as I push up onto my palms and solidly drive myself between her legs. “Give me this chance, darling. I will love you fiercely. Constantly. Inventively.” She laughs again, her walls gripping me like a glove. “I will give you more love than you’ll ever need. I will worship you eternally.” I begin to thrust into her again and again when she chokes back a strangled cry, her body bowing from the bed. As her orgasm hits, she takes my arse in her hands, pressing me to her as she cries out her love. Cries out my name.
I don’t last long, every one of my muscles tightening in the face of such abject pleasure as my orgasm hits. I shatter into a million pieces, showering my love over her.
39
MIMI
“I never liked the opera anyway,” Whit murmurs as he traces a lock of hair across my back.
“Was it supposed to be part of the Julia Roberts’s experience?” I say, not quite able to lift my head. Orgasm number three has taken the strength from my limbs as I lie on my front, one arm under my pillow, the other dangling from the edge of the bed.
“Yeah, I suppose so, though the opera was Beckett’s suggestion. He got me the tickets to Madame Butterfly in the opera house that inspired Phantom of the Opera, apparently.”
“Nice.”
“I’m just not that cultured,” he says with a chuckle.
“You’re more a couple of pints down the boozer with your brothers?”
He chuckles. “I’d say I’m more the stay-at-home type, the type to adore his beautiful girlfriend.” My head is awash of thoughts. Pleasure at hearing such a small thing. Worry of all the things I haven’t told him. Secrets I’ll have to share now. And that’s when my worries will become his. Like he doesn’t have enough on his plate right now. Like his heart isn’t already stretched to capacity.