Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
She makes the choice for us both, looping a hand behind my neck and pulling me in. Her mouth opens and I take advantage, sliding my hands to her waist, anchoring in place so she’ll never dare leave.
She makes a low sound into my mouth—half sigh, half challenge—and that’s when I let one palm drift lower, cupping the curve of her arse to press her flush against me. My cock thickens and she tempts it further by rotating her pelvis.
Christ, she feels good. Too good. It’s dangerous, how easily she gets under my skin.
I break the kiss before it swallows us whole, my forehead resting on hers, and she utters a protest. She continues to rub against me, keening softly.
I grip her hips to still her. “If you don’t stop that, I’m going to lose whatever control I’ve got left, Accardi.”
Her fingers trail lazily along the back of my neck. “Maybe I like the idea of you losing control.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “You’re trouble.”
Her grin widens. “Takes one to know one.”
We trade another slow kiss, then she pulls back just enough to tease, “Are you here to stand around and talk, Barnes, or are we doing this?”
“Doing this,” I murmur and lift the silky lingerie right up and off her body.
She stands before me in nothing but a scrap of lace that’s more suggestion than underwear. Her breasts rounded, belly flat, and I know the heaven that’s beyond that scrap of material covering her pussy.
I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist, but I don’t take her mouth again. Not yet. I bury my face at her collarbone, tasting skin, dragging my teeth lightly until she shivers.
I make the same trek I made last night, straight to her bedroom. City light filters through the blinds, casting shadows over her body as I lie her on the bed. I take a moment to remove my clothes and then I cover her, mouth back on hers and my fingers skimming the lace between her thighs. The heat I find there punches a groan from me, and I slide my fingers under, testing her slickness.
Her hips shift against my hand, and she catches my mouth again, kissing me like she’s starved for it. I flick my thumb over her clit and the ragged moan that rumbles out of her shreds what little restraint I had left.
I strip the lace down her legs and settle between them, because there’s no way in hell I’m skipping this. The first taste of her is pure addiction and so goddamn perfect, I have to brace a hand against the mattress to keep from grinding against it.
She’s responsive to every flick of my tongue, every shift in pressure, until she’s tugging at my hair, breathless. “Ronan—please—”
I move up her body, catch her mouth, and while she’s distracted with the kiss, I reach for my wallet on the nightstand where I dropped it, tearing open the condom I stashed. With hooded eyes, she watches me roll it on, one brow lifting.
“I like that you’re always prepared,” she teases.
“Always,” I mutter. “Though nothing could’ve prepared me for you.”
Her answering smile is slow and wicked. “Show me, then.”
She scoots back and parts her legs, and then I’m sinking into her in one deep thrust that has both of us groaning.
The fit is perfect—tight, hot, like she was made for me—and for a moment I can’t move, can only take in the sensation of being buried inside her.
But we’re two people who live on adrenaline, so we quickly find a rhythm. We move faster, harder, chasing the inevitable. She comes first, clinging to me, crying out my name, and I follow seconds later, the release tearing through me so hard I see white.
After, I stay where I am, both of us breathing like we’ve just taken the checkered flag. My hand finds the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, and I press my mouth to her temple before rolling to my back. She comes to rest like a comforting blanket across my torso.
I don’t have words, but I have a message for her. It’s found in the way I hold her, in the way I’m already thinking about the next time.
Francesca shifts to rest her chin on my chest. She drags her nails along my ribs, slow, lazy, enough to keep my pulse in overdrive.
“So…,” she says, her voice heavy and sated, “are you ever going to tell me what it was like for you growing up? Before all this—before the paddock, the podiums, the attitude?”
I let out a low huff of amusement that isn’t really amusement at all. “You already know enough.”
“That’s not an answer.” She lifts her head to peer at me through the dim light. “I really want to know more about you.”