Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
I slip my hand down to her clit, so swollen, pink, and wet, and begging for my touch again. Her body tenses and she lets out a shaking breath as I rub my finger around in taunting, teasing circles, light as air.
She begins to buck into me again, wanting more pressure, wanting so badly to come on my cock and my hand. I give in because I’m bloody delirious for her pleasure and because my own thrusts are becoming sharper, quicker, my hips slamming into her at a rate that will make me expire sooner rather than later.
So much for taking it easy this morning.
But even if I’m being a bit rough, even if she’s sore and sensitive, she’s moaning in pleasure and I can tell she’s close to coming. Her body is shaky with strain, her breaths short and quick.
“Turn over,” I tell her gruffly, pulling out again and flipping her over on her stomach. I scoop my arms around her waist and pull her up until her gorgeous arse is right in front of me, two full cheeks I have to prevent myself from biting. That will come later. I wrap my hand around her waist, loving the sight of how small she looks against me, and position myself again.
“Make me come, Laz,” she says softly, her head down and her blonde hair spilling forward over her face. I don’t want to let her hide. I reach forward and make a fist in her hair, pulling it back so her neck is arched, the side of her face exposed.
“I’m working on it,” I tell her, tugging back sharply.
“God!” She cries out in a breathy burst of pain and then moans, “It’s working.”
With one hand pulling on her hair, I lean forward until my damp chest is pressed against her back, my cock so deep inside that we both suck in our breath. I slide one hand over her throat. I tighten my hold, choking her lightly, and put my lips to her ear. “How do I feel?” I whisper, licking up the rim.
Shivers erupt beneath me and I feel her throat moving against the palm of my hand. “Safe,” she manages to say. Her answer surprises me. She swallows and I let up the pressure.
“How do you feel?”
“Needy,” she groans. “Desperate. Mad. I feel like I might lose my mind. I need to come, please make me come.”
I moan, addicted to her own admissions, her own feverish hunger. The way she begs. I circle my hips, my fingers tightening around her neck and hair while my chest slides up and down against her skin. In turn she thrusts her arse back at me, and all thought and reason and sense of self are obscured by her satiny feel, the tight clench around my cock that threatens to take me to another world.
If she’s losing her mind, so am I. I’m no longer myself. Just an animal. I piston myself into her, over and over again, the headboard slamming against the wall. I can see us in the reflection of the painting above the bed, me fucking her raw, deep from behind, my muscles flexing as I push in, fast, hard, our skin blistering from such wild need.
My fingers work her clit, harder, faster, so slick and messy, slipping and sliding against her. Then she’s coming, and her pulse on her throat is racing into my palm. She cries out again, loud, frenzied, like she’s being obliterated in the most perverse way. The way she yells my name pulls the trigger.
I’m clutching her throat, her hair, and I’m coming. It’s like a dynamite set off deep inside. It blasts right through me, flattening my nerves.
Bloody hell. I don’t even know where I am right now.
I collapse against her, gasping for breath, burying my face in hair that I already feel holds all my whispered words, the words that never make it to paper.
Fuck. She holds every fucking part of me in that big, beautiful soul of hers.
I can’t swallow properly and my breath is slow to return. There’s always a moment of clarity after you come, and this one holds an earth-shattering truth.
You will lose everything if you lose her.
I don’t know why my mind is automatically going there, but it is.
I blink it away, shake my head, and slowly pull out.
I lie down beside her and she turns her head to face me. Her eyes are glazed, her cheeks bright red. I’ve left pink fingermarks on her neck.
She looks thoroughly fucked.
A lazy smile spreads across her lips.
“Room service?” she asks.
“Well, if it isn’t famous poet Lazarus Scott,” Jane says dryly as I approach the table. “Who apparently has some super human ability to not look like a piece of shit after a night of drinking.”
I laugh and sit down in the booth next to her, causing her to move over and spill her coffee onto the saucer. “Good morning to you, too. Too bad we’re not related by blood, you could definitely use some English in you to help you deal with this.” I wave my fingers over her face.