Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Coast’s hand slapped down on my shoulder, fingers curling in, almost to the point of bruising.
His fragile grip on his self-control only made me want to make him lose it completely.
My lips closed around him, sucking down his length.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his hand slipping up my shoulder to thread into the hair at the base of my neck, curling it around his fist as I started to slide up and down his cock.
His groans and hisses of pleasure had me working him faster, taking him deeper, wanting him to know the same pleasure he’d shown me.
But before I could get that, his hand was twisting in my hair, sending little currents of pain across my scalp until I had no choice but to move back, to let him slide from between my lips.
His eyes were stormy pools as he arched my head back then reached out to run his thumb across my lower lip.
His hand released my hair.
Then he was leaning down, grabbing me behind the knees, and tossing me back on the mattress.
Amusement and desire mingled as I bounced.
But as he grabbed then rolled on protection, all I felt was need clawing at me.
Coast climbed up on the bed near my feet, lips pressing in at the side of my ankle, calf, knee, thigh, hip, then up my belly.
Every inch of me felt like it was buzzing, sizzling, sparking into a fire that threatened to blaze through me completely.
His hair danced over my skin as his tongue traced up my neck just before his lips claimed mine.
His weight pressed down on me. Heavy, comforting, welcome. And my arms and legs went around him automatically, wanting him close, refusing to let him go.
His lips bruised into mine. Mine pressed back in turn.
Then his hips were grinding down, and his thick length glided against my cleft, dragging a deep moan from me as my hips rocked up into the sensation, needing more.
Coast gave me what I needed, moving his hips in a rocking motion, driving me effortlessly up as his tongue teased mine.
My nails dug lines down his back as my heels dug into his ass, using him as leverage to press harder against him, to get more of what my body was crying out for.
Coast’s lips ripped from mine as his hips dipped, then surged, thrusting deep into me with one hard stroke that had my moan catching in my throat.
“Fuck,” Coast groaned, resting his forehead against mine, trying to find some control.
I didn’t want him to.
I wanted him wild and reckless.
I wanted him in his purest form.
My walls clenched around him as I rocked restlessly against him.
“Give me a minute here,” he murmured, leaning down to nip my earlobe. “You feel too fucking good.” My hips rocked up further, dragging a desperate groan out of him. “Trying to take my time with you.”
“Don’t,” I demanded.
He lifted up, looking down at me with wild eyes.
“Sure?”
“Yes.” I’d never been surer of anything in my entire freaking life.
The thread snapped.
And then he was fucking me.
Hard and deep.
The bed creaked in objection, but the sound was quickly muffled by my cries and his groans as we moved together, as we drove relentlessly toward that cliff.
Then we both fell, crashed, shattered together.
Coast’s body came down hard on mine as my own continued to shake as the pleasure seemed to pump through my very veins.
I sucked in a greedy breath when the climax finally loosened its grip on me, and I could feel the way Coast’s lips curved into a smile against my neck at the sound.
I couldn’t even fault the guy.
He’d earned that smile.
I clung to him afterward. For just a moment, I wasn’t going to worry about being too needy, about what Coast might be thinking.
There would be time for thinking—and overthinking—later.
Right then, I just wanted to feel.
Eventually, Coast threw his weight back, but he took me with him until we were both lying on our sides.
Some part of me expected him to pull away then, to get some distance, to say he was too hot, that he had things to do, that he couldn’t waste time cuddling in bed.
Old conversations.
Old traumas.
But Coast’s arm went lazily around me, keeping me close, trusting that the air conditioning would cool us eventually.
“Do all these have meanings?” I asked, my finger tracing over one of his tattoos.
“Figure all of ‘em do. Some just might not have deep ones.”
“What’s this one then?” I asked, finger moving around the outline of a big blue diamond, then over the word Lucky above it.
“Lost a bet,” he said, shooting me a smirk when I looked at him. “It’s ironic.”
I figured the one that featured a skull half-drowned in a whiskey glass—with a lemon garnish—was pretty self-explanatory as well.
“Is this the year you were born?” I asked.
Coast’s brows pinched, and he leaned over to look at what I was glancing at.