Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
He wanted to look at my wound.
That was it.
Nothing else.
There was no accounting for the disappointment as it seemed to kick me in the stomach, knocking out all my air.
Salvatore’s fingers probed around the edge of my wound, saying nothing, as my stupid body misconstrued the cold, clinical touch for something, well, a lot more heated and personal.
For a horrified second, I was worried he would hear the sound of my nervous swallow, would be able to know the source of it.
Finished with his inspection, he pressed the gauze back on, running his finger along the edge of the tape to make it stick again, going around in a square four times, and I swear to God, I felt that sensation… you know… somewhere else.
He didn’t reach to pull up my bra strap, and while my brain was telling me that I was supposed to do it, I couldn’t seem to get the message from my brain to my arm, so it just stayed there, dangling over my upper arm as his gaze slid up to mine in the mirror.
There was something dark reflected there, but before I could even begin to analyze it, his hands were suddenly sinking into my hips, grabbing, turning, and slamming me back against the sink vanity.
I’m not too proud to admit that the forceful, caveman move made excitement spark through my system.
He was just as close as before, his body a breath from mine, close enough that if I took a deep breath, my breasts would be brushing his chest.
I totally didn’t consider taking a deep breath just to test out my theory. Nope. Not me.
Before I could fully talk myself out of the idea, though, Salvatore was suddenly moving.
Lowering.
Right down in front of me.
Until he was in a deep squat, his head level with, well, a particularly alive and interested part of my anatomy.
As soon as he was settled, his arm started to lift.
I swear I could feel the air between his palm and my thigh vibrating as he moved it up alongside me.
Then his fingers were snagging the hem of my skirt and starting to lift.
I swear, I damn near swooned.
Until, again, my damn rational mind realized his intention as he fisted the skirt to my hip so he could look at the wound on my thigh, peeling back the gauze, then inspecting the wound with the same intensity that he had my other one.
And, again, he started tracing the tape, pressing it down. Four times. Five. Six.
My poor body was crying out for his hand to just slid inward a bit, to press between my thighs.
Finished with his frustratingly chaste, yet wholly erotic, reapplication of my tape, his gaze slid up in my direction, but taking its sweet time to move over my body, making every inch of me hum under his inspection.
I knew I really needed to lift my head, to look anywhere but down at him, letting him see the desire that was etched across my features.
I didn’t do that, though.
And when his dark gaze met mine, I knew what they were seeing. Every bit of desire that was thrumming through my body.
Whatever was going on in his mind, though, was a mystery to me. Nothing was reflected back at me as he watched me, as he took in the cheeks that had to be pink and the eyes that must have been heavy-lidded.
A rumbling sound moved through his chest.
Then, “Fuck it,” he said as his head ducked and his hand yanked my skirt even higher, exposing my very plain black panties.
His other hand grabbed ahold of those panties, yanking them to the side.
His mouth was on me then, and the surprise of it sent a shock through my body, making me jolt hard as his tongue traced up my cleft before finding my clit and working it in circles.
Both my arms shot out at once.
One settled on the back of his head, holding him to me like he had any intention of pulling away.
The other slapped down on the sink vanity behind me, steadying me as I swear my legs lost half their strength immediately.
He worked me with perfect pace and pressure, never relenting, never giving my desire even a second to ebb away.
My hips rocked into his movements as my hand crushed into the back of his skull.
God, it had been so long.
And no one, I was sure, had been anywhere near as good as he was, as intuitive, as determined.
As he drove me closer and closer, I was torn between the desire to shut my eyes and focus, and keep my gaze on him as he kept working me.
The latter won out, finding myself oddly fascinated by watching the man in his fancy slacks and button-down, with his silver-streaked dark hair, buried between my thighs.
My slight whimpers grew to muffled moans as I tried to keep my lips together, knowing there was a restaurant with guests just a couple of feet away.