Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“I’ll remember that.” I smash my lips back to hers, my body tingling, my hips thrusting when she starts stroking me. It’s becoming urgent, and when she inhales sharply, I clamp down on her lip. “You ready?” I gasp, my cock set to explode. I should wonder if my lack of action for eight days straight is contributing to my urgency, but I know it’s simply the anticipation of her.
Her nod fires me into action, and I bat her hand away, grab her under her arse, and pull her up and forward, straight onto my waiting dick.
She cries out.
And I nearly pass out with the instant pleasure. Oh, my fucking God.
“Okay?” I wheeze, my eyes crossing. “Are you okay?” Fucking hell, I can feel every tiny bit of her around me, every pulse, every twinge, every spasm.
Pleasure with no alcohol.
Pleasure with no darkness.
Pleasure with complete alertness.
Pleasure with someone I’m utterly enchanted by.
It’s new. It’s amazing.
“Two seconds,” she breathes. “I need a few seconds.” Her legs circle my waist, and I swing her around, pushing her against the wall, my forehead dropping to hers as I give her the time she needs to adjust. I’m sweating, panting, as I ease out of her gently. Then I plunge forward, controlled and carefully, giving her time and space to accept me.
“Can you take more?” I fight the words through my breathing, and her breasts push into my chest, a silent message, but I need the words. This isn’t going to be slow. “Ava, tell me you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” she whispers, and with that, I rear back and drive forward purposefully. And I don’t stop. Can’t stop. I’m growling in appreciation as I pump into her time and time again, my body not my own.
“You’re mine now, Ava.” The words roll out with no prompt from my brain, my thoughts, my body, my soul, all being hijacked by this moment. This feeling.
She doesn’t object, filling me with contentment—something that I’ve never felt. “All mine,” I reiterate, meeting her forehead with my own and retreating before I really let rip, pounding forward repeatedly like a crazy man, desperate and sweating.
I relish in her repeated cries of pleasure, feeling her muscles tightening around me as I take her mouth again, our sweaty bodies slipping and sliding. “You’re going to come.” I can feel it. She’s pulsing and squirming.
“Yes!” She bites me.
Fucking hell. “Wait for me,” I order, increasing my pace.
She screams. Shit, she’s going.
And so am I.
It creeps up on me, and I fight to remain standing.
“Now, Ava!”
I push into her, holding myself deep and high, heaving into her neck. I’m a wreck. A fucking mess. “Oh, fucccckkkkk,” I groan, my dick exploding as I lazily circle my hips, wheedling every scrap of pleasure, her moans into my shoulder tired and drowsy. Jesus, Lord above, what the fucking hell just happened? We’re doing this again very soon.
“Look at me,” I demand gently, needing to check once again that she is real. When her heavy head lifts and her face finds mine, I look straight into those eyes and know for certain that something really special is happening here. And for the first time, I wonder whether to be delighted by it, or afraid.
Softly circling my hips, I kiss her. “Beautiful.” I push her back into the warmth of my chest and take her to the counter, resting her down gently and reluctantly slipping out of her.
I cup her face with my palms and kiss her. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I scan her face, searching for any signs that I may have. She seems so delicate. She’s not fragile, not at all, but I feel like I need to be careful with her in every way. And I’m fully aware of the reason.
She answers by pulling me into her arms and squeezing me tightly, my face naturally finding its place in the crook of her neck and my palms feeling her back. I feel an overwhelming sense of . . . belonging. For years, I’ve stumbled randomly and blindly, doing things without thought or consideration. But this? Leaning into her neck, being held not constrained? It feels so fucking right. It’s as if I’ve finally fallen upon something I really want. Something I can see so very clearly.
But then I realize what I’ve done.
Idiot.
Pulling back, I stroke her heated face with my knuckles. “I didn’t use a condom.” I feel so ashamed and, actually, surprised with myself. No matter how drunk I’ve ever been, I’ve always protected myself. Always. After being trapped, it’s inbuilt. “I’m sorry, I got so carried away. You’re on birth control, right?”
“Yes, but the pill doesn’t protect me from STDs.”
I smile, not in the least bit insulted. I have no right to be . . . not that she knows. “Ava, I’ve always used a condom.” I peck her forehead. “Except with you.”