Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
She doesn’t hesitate. Her blazer comes off first, sliding down her arms with a whisper of fabric. She drapes it over the back of a chair, her movements deliberate, calculated. Her blouse is next, pale blue and innocent-looking, but under the candlelight, it clings to her skin like a second layer. She unfastens the buttons one at a time, her eyes locked on mine, daring me to look away. News flash, I don’t.
“Slower,” I growl, and she obeys, her fingers trembling just enough to make my cock twitch. When she shrugs the blouse off, her tits push against the cups of her plain black bra, and I swear I can see her nipples hardening through the fabric. She stands there, exposed and waiting, her chest rising and falling with every breath.
“Skirt,” I command, my voice tight with restraint. She unzips it, lets it fall to the floor, and steps out of it. Her panties match the bra, and her legs are bare except for the faint, healing lines on her thighs. Not my marks but old scars from a car accident she had in high school. I have the urge to kiss them, to trace them with my tongue, but I hold back. Though my words say this is only sex, in my heart, I know it’s so much more. This relationship with Natalie is everything.
She stands before me in her underwear, shoulders squared, jaw set. I walk a slow circle around her, savoring the tension. My hands never touch, but the air between us is charged enough to set my hair on end. At her back, I let my breath warm her spine. Her skin pebbles in gooseflesh.
“On the bed,” I say, and she moves.
She sits on the edge of the navy silk sheets and squares her shoulders. Ready for me.
I retrieve the riding crop from its place by the headboard. She sees it and her lips part, but she doesn’t flinch.
“Do you trust me?” I ask, voice low.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tips her chin up, biting her bottom lip.
I make her wait several seconds while the sound of our breathing fills the room.
The candles hanging on the wall slowly drip was as I whisper, “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
She spreads her thighs apart, hands behind her back. Her eyes shine. There’s a tremor in her left shoulder, and I know it’s not fear. It’s need.
I run the leather tip of the crop over her collarbone and down the swell of her cleavage. Her nipples harden instantly as I tap the right one.
She shivers and moans. The sound goes straight to my cock, and I have to count backward from one hundred to cool my goddamn jets before I go off like a teenager.
As I kneel on the bed behind her, the room fills with a tense silence, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric and our breathing. I slide the smooth, cool leather of the crop down her spine, feeling her shiver beneath its touch, and tap once, lightly, at the base, where her back curves gracefully. She inhales sharply, her breath catching in the quiet.
"Count," I command, my voice steady and low.
"One," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I deliver the next tap just above the curve of her ass, with a touch more force. "Two," she counts, her voice a little stronger yet still tinged with anticipation.
I continue the rhythm, making her count to ten. Each tap lands with increasing intensity, and by the time I reach the final one, she's breathing in shallow, quivering gasps, her resolve unwavering as she holds her position, her body taut like a drawn bowstring.
I toss the crop onto the nightstand, where it lands with a soft thud, and pull her curvy body back against me. My palms glide over her ribs, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers, before traveling upwards to cradle her breasts. I squeeze, starting with a gentle pressure, then increasing it, feeling the soft resilience beneath my hands. She releases a soft, involuntary sound, not quite a moan, more like the sigh of wind through a crack in the door, and melts back against my body.
"Good girl," I murmur, my lips brushing against the delicate skin behind her ear, the warmth of my breath mingling with the faint scent of her hair.
She melts, her tension slipping away like snow under the first rays of spring sunlight.
I move back a little bit and move her forward onto all fours, then hook my fingers in her panties and slide them off. Her pussy is slick and pink, the lips flushed from anticipation. I spread her knees further apart, then slide two fingers in, slow and steady.
She gasps, arching her back. I work her with my left hand, thumb flicking her clit in a rhythm that matches her breath. My right hand snakes up and laces into her hair, pulling gently to keep her head up.