Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Only now I’m a human live wire.
My skin, one raw nerve.
I’m nearly sobbing as I tug at his hair.
But he won’t stop—and I think I could even come again—when Grant lets out a satisfied rumble and finally lifts his head, looking at me with lazy satisfaction on his face.
“Not sorry,” he says with a slow, unapologetic grin. I blush deep enough to burn at the sight of his beard dotted with my slickness. “Just couldn’t get enough of you saying my name like that while I took your pussy to the moon.”
I make a spluttering, embarrassed sound.
“I... I wasn’t... I didn’t say your name!”
...did I?
Um, I might have confessed to murdering Julius Caesar while he had me like that.
So high on pleasure I didn’t know my own name.
And it looks like he knows that as he pushes himself up with his grin widening.
“Even better,” he rumbles, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging out of it, then stripping his undershirt over his head.
He bares the broad expanse of his chiseled, tanned, scar-pecked chest. I love the way the dark hair outlines the inner grooves of sharp, mounded abdominal muscles and the stylized tattoos that start on his biceps and curl over his shoulders like the stripes of some large exotic cat.
“You must’ve been enjoying it, at least, if you didn’t even know you were screamin’ for me like a banshee.”
Oh, I want to kill him.
But I want to kiss him more.
He’s so good at pissing me off in the best ways.
When he moves up my body to kiss me again, when I taste myself on his lips as he smothers my mouth and crushes my body with his, I’m so ready.
A full decade worth of killing desire that’s been building up inside him comes bursting out in wild urgency, this need to be inside me.
The loud rasp of his zipper.
The crinkle of a condom packet.
Suddenly, that flesh that was only teasing me through layers of fabric before is pressed against me, nothing barring skin from skin but a paper-thin layer of latex that does nothing to buffer his heat.
The anticipation destroys me a hundred more times.
Grant’s kiss gentles as I press my thighs against his hips.
He brushes my hair back, cupping my face.
Those honey-brown eyes are so tender, but so possessive I can never imagine belonging to anyone else.
He kisses me again with the weight of the world.
“You sure you want this, Ophelia?” His tone tells me his leash is on the verge of snapping and yet it’s so powerful to know he’s holding himself back. Making sure it’s really okay. “You sure you want me?”
“I’ve never wanted anything more, Grant. Never,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his.
With a raw sound, he fuses our mouths together.
He catches my wrists, pinning them to the bed, leaving me helpless and open for him.
His hips go to work, rocking, teasing, gliding the length of his cock up and down against me until I whimper against his lips.
When he finds the perfect position, all the better to ruin me, it’s on.
The pulsing head of his cock storms the emptiness inside me.
Hot pressure.
Animalistic power.
One slow, fateful, all-consuming thrust.
Then he glides into me to the hilt, molding me around his thickness like a force of nature.
So intimate I almost want to hide, yet I can’t dream of stopping this.
Of course, he’s just as big below the belt as the rest of him.
I swear, I can feel every vein as his cock splits me open.
It’s like he’s breaking me in half, but the sharpness is glorious and wonderful and addicting.
I just want more—more!—wrapping my legs around his hips, digging my heels into the small of his back, lifting myself up into him.
I don’t even realize I’m biting his mouth until I taste the sharp metallic hint of bruises.
But he bites me right back, marking me.
His breaths rush so hot, the rough hair of his chest scraping against my breasts in shivers of pleasure.
His body moves so hard against me as every muscle tightens like a spring.
Low, guttural pleasure sounds melt between our warring lips as he sinks deeper, deeper.
I feel like he’s kissing me from the inside out, marching sensations with every inch of him that fills me.
He drives the breath from my lungs, my chest aching and hurting by the time he gives one last short, sharp, sanity-shattering thrust and buries himself in fully.
Our bodies lock.
If I thought I was sensitive before, it’s nothing compared to the wildness that ripples over my skin now.
And I clench my fingers, tossing frantically under him, still begging with my body.
“Ophelia.”
He whispers my name into my lips.
Imprinting his desire like a prayer.
And then, oh, then...
He moves.
He takes.
He demolishes.
He leads me in his rhythm, in his power, until the world pivots by the slow, deep strength of those plunging strokes, piercing me deep, stroking me from inside only to draw back, leaving me empty.