Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Tate reaches over to gently press his palm against my cheek for just a moment. “We can start doing that again whenever you want, mi linda.”
An idea that I had been debating on for a week finally flows out of my mouth. “How about we start when you move in this weekend?”
Shock renders him speechless by the way his mouth is moving but sound isn’t escaping.
“Would living together help ease some of your ex-husband woes?” My tone remains loving and light. “Would being in the same bed together every night where you get to have me in ways that only you get to have me make it easier for those times in the day where you have to share me with others?”
There’s no hesitation to his growled answer. “Sí.”
“Then I know what we’ll be doing in a couple of days.” I give his dress shirt a gentle tug to encourage him to lean down for me, which he does. “And I can’t wait for what we’ll be doing in a couple of nights…”
Hungry roars rattle in his throat as his mouth feathers mine. “How about we practice that shite now?”
Probably not a good idea.
Probably a very bad idea.
Very, very bad idea.
“Luigh siar,” Tate slyly commands in Irish on a lick of his lips. “Oscail do chosa dom mo ghrá.”
Despite logic in my brain demanding otherwise, I lean back and open my legs like I’m told.
And I let him gently guide my scrub bottoms along with panties to my ankles.
And I let two of his thick digits slide down my clit to curl deep inside my pussy on an airy gasp.
“Don’t worry, beautiful,” he purrs beside my ear. “I’m just gonna mark my territory real quick.”
Between the heat of his words and the taste of his tongue finding its way to mine, it’s impossible not to succumb to the wild strokes that have already started. Our racing the clock is evident by the way he uses his thumb to furiously rub my clit. How he adds more pressure knowing it’s what’s really needed to push me closer to orgasm’s cliff. Stiffens his fingers for harsher pumps, well-aware of how I prefer that action because it reminds me more of being fucked by his cock than banged by his appendages. Tate teases with his tongue, lightly brushing mine, forcing it to frantically search for more while my hips outpace its movement, vehemently rising to meet his continuous thrusting. Each deep dive has my nails clawing at his shirt. Yanking at the space between the buttons. Wordlessly begging to be bent over and pounded by his cock rather than his rapidly thrashing fingers.
I whine.
Whimper.
Whine louder until he forces the sound to melt into a needy moan.
Every inch of my mouth gets swept and inspected and gently reclaimed as my lower lips get bestially battered, carnally carved, and unmercifully dominated until I can’t so much as get air into my lungs without feeling a blissful twinge he’s caused. My fingers and toes strain in tandem while the sporadic throbbing takes off towards the spinetingling speed of a climax. I can’t stop my lips from falling from his to release a scream but having his other hand fly to my throat to cut off the sound with a deliciously sadistic squeeze somehow only make me scream harder. Both sets of lips howl in oscillation with wetness drenching his fingers…my thighs…my leather seat…on each body shake.
It feels like I come and keep coming and only stop coming when his forehead lightly lands against mine on a soft growled, “Is liomsa thú.”
I deliriously nod my compliance.
“Eres mio,” he repeats in Spanish, slowly removing the soaked digits from my aching pussy.
Another head bob in sexual haze is presented.
This time the words are spoken in English at the same time he presses his sticky fingers to my parted lips. “You’re mine.”
The hold on my throat is relinquished just enough for me to airily croak back, “Only yours.”
Watching Tate predatorily smirk as he slides my wetness across my own tongue sends a faint orgasmic shudder throughout my still trembling system.
I am his.
And I am his in ways I’ve never been anyone else’s.
I need him to really get that through his head because until he does, we’ll be missing that vital bit of trust between us that’s crucial in making this last forever.
Chapter 8
Tate
“This is the worst service we’ve ever had!” barks the guest at an uncomfortably loud level.
Seems fitting since this is the worst fucking anniversary I’ve ever had.
“My apologies, again, sir.” I fold my hands respectfully behind my back. “I-”
“Look, boy, I know English isn’t your first language, obviously,” he makes an open palm gesture towards me on a sneer, “but perhaps you’ll understand these next words without a problem. I. Want. To. Speak. To. Your. Manager.”
“I-”
“Now.”
Seething inwards slowly starts to seep outward, yet I manage to stuff it down just enough to deliver a clipped, “Yes, sir.”