Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
“Ben. What the fuck…?” She breaks into a moan.
“Fuck,” I groan against her nape. I’m careful not to give her a hickey. It’s as if every nerve-ending of hers is coming alive from my touch, and it’s making me want to smother her until she climaxes. Then I’d do it again, just to see it all over again.
I return to her lips. Holding her soft cheek while I slow the kiss in sensual strokes. She’s melting against me, and my muscles flex against her as I control my need and desire. She’s allowing me to take her on this journey, and I’m grateful because feeling Harriet lose herself to pleasure in my hands is like inhaling helium. I’m flying high. Fire in the night sky.
A smoldering, blazing star.
“I can’t,” she gasps for breath, her eyes threatening to roll.
“Let go,” I whisper against her lips.
“It’s too…much.” She chokes on a sudden cry, and I taste the sound against my tongue, then I run my fingers between her thighs. On the outside of her gym shorts. Over her clit, her pussy. She is so fucking wet. It aches my cock.
This does her in—my hand between her legs.
Her whole body convulses against me. I want inside Harriet. I want to feel her pulse and clench around me, but I grit down on my teeth and breathe hot breath through my nose. Keeping her in my arms while she orgasms. She’s light to me. I could probably toss her around all day, all night.
Really, I just want to hold her right up against my chest. Press her close. Just like this.
And never let her go.
As she descends off the rippling climax, I take a hand off her ass, just to peel strands of her hair off her reddened lips. Mine sting a little, and my breath is much shallower than hers. I’m pent-up. Doing my best to ignore it. Her fingers slip down to my biceps. I watch her study our bodies, how I have her supported by the backs of her thighs now.
“Good?” I ask her with a rising smile.
“Uh, that was…way better than good.” Her cheeks are still flushed. “I’ve never really enjoyed kissing, but that…holy shit. I could fantasize about that.”
“Why fantasize when you can have it?” I kiss her more tenderly, then pull back to see her narrowed eyes softening. I see her thinking. Her mind contemplating weeks from now. “I’m still here.”
“I know.” She kisses me this time. Deeper, soul-pulling. Her small palms cup my face. I skate my hand into her hair again. I grind against her into the wall, and I’m scared I might lose myself in a round two of just kissing.
So I break our lips apart.
I let her catch her breath, then I set her gently on her feet. She tugs down her shorts, and I adjust my erection.
“Dude,” her eyes bug at my cock.
I burst into a laugh. “I will fit, Fisher. Basic anatomy. I assume you aced Health Class, smarty-pants.”
“Aced it, yeah. Never taken a dick that big though.”
“I’ll go slow.” I nod toward the drum kit. “You want to play?”
She walks back over to the instrument and grabs the sticks off the floor. “I thought you were about to ask if I wanted to be fucked on the drums.”
I laugh again. “Yeah, I have to draw the line somewhere”—I peer back to the closed door, thankful for the soundproofing in here—“being caught having sex isn’t going to appeal to the nerds. Unlike my kind, who love the notches on the bedposts.”
She twirls her drumsticks way fancier than I ever did. “Such a jock.” She points a stick at me. “I do need to mention something.”
“Okay?” I can’t see where this is going.
“Earlier, I ate a pot cookie.”
“By choice?” I ask.
“I mean, yeah, no one forced me—and I’m not high.” She speaks fast. “I don’t think it was strong. I haven’t really felt effects, except maybe paranoia.”
My smile stretches. “Yeah, I could see that.”
“That’s the last time I ever eat an edible.”
“I’ve never had one,” I admit. “I’ve never done drugs or wanted to…” I trail off, hearing the creak of the door, and I spin around as a member of the Honors House peeks inside. It’s Kiki Kershaw. Her animable smile is on Harriet. She acknowledges me with a shorter wave, and it’s about the same curtness I’ve been gifted by several girls who live here.
They hate Kappa.
For good reason. And the only reason I was allowed inside this building is because I made friends with Guy Abernathy before I joined the frat. The president of the Honors House trusts me at least.
“Hey, a bunch of us are going to play volleyball in the pool,” Kiki says. “Nine times out of ten it turns into a game of chicken. But it can be pretty fun if you want to join. Just don’t get on Elijah’s shoulders, he will do anything to win—including throwing you at the opponent.”