Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“You’re not allowed to come yet,” he warned, warm breath in my ear as he got me closer and closer.
But the damn heroine on the page still had a while to go.
“No,” he warned again, pulling his hand away just when I felt that telltale tightening sensation.
“Hey, that’s not on the page,” I reminded him, taking slow, deep breaths to try to calm the ache deep inside.
“Neither is coming. I haven’t even gotten to taste you yet,” he reminded me, reaching to tap the page where the hero was going down on the heroine like a starving man.
The next thing I knew, the book was getting tossed onto the coffee table, then Soren was moving out from behind me to slide in front of me.
He made quick work of removing my panties, then he was down between my legs, working me in a frustratingly slow pace that had me fisting my hands in his hair and trying to rock against him to get more of what my body was screaming for.
I’d never hated a heroine more than I hated that one right then as Soren kept edging me with his tongue, lips, and fingers.
“Nope,” he said as my thighs shook, my back arched, and I was dangerously close to crushing him with my legs.
“Soren, please,” I begged. And I was never the kind to beg. I demanded. I took. I never pleaded for anything. Ever.
Except, it seemed, him.
“Hey, I didn’t write it,” he said, reaching for me with an annoyingly smug smile, pulling me up, so he could remove my shirt, then bra.
“Fuck the book,” I grumbled, hands going to his belt and whipping it off, then working on his button and zipper.
If I could just get my hands and mouth on him, there would be no more playing around.
“Saff…” he warned.
“You’re supposed to be naked too,” I reminded him.
“You’re right,” he agreed, but he moved away from me, leaving me alone on the couch, aching, needy, as he stepped just out of reach.
Then he started to undress himself, making an event of each button before finally shrugging off his shirt.
His pants went next. Then the boxer briefs that were doing nothing to hide just how turned on he was.
A needy whimper escaped me when he was finally standing before me with nothing to hide behind.
Reaching out, I grabbed his hand, pulling him closer, my hungry gaze on his.
“This isn’t in the story.”
“I think we do better off-script,” I told him, closing my hand around his hard length, then stroking him to the base as I leaned forward to run my tongue around the head. “Or should I stop?”
A growl moved out of him as his hand went to the back of my neck, fingers borderline crushing. “Don’t you dare.”
I had no plans to.
If there was anything hotter than having Soren drive me wild, it was doing the same to him. I was drunk on his desire, the way his fingers tightened on the back of my neck, how his hips were helpless but to rock deeper into my mouth, the frantic pace of his breath, the curses and groans as I sucked him faster and faster.
“If you don’t stop, I’m going to come down your throat instead of inside you,” he warned.
Suddenly, I was okay with that.
But Soren, it seemed, had other plans.
His fingers curled in my hair, yanking hard until the pain forced me back, then slowly made me rose to my feet.
He grabbed the backs of my legs, hauling me up, then walking backward until my back slammed into something hard and cold.
Not the wall, I realized with a shivery sort of desire. The window.
His lips were on mine, kissing me hard and deep, his lips as demanding as the hands that were moving over my body.
“Soren,” I whimpered, rocking myself against his hard length pressed to my cleft. “Please,” I cried as he pulled my hair to the side, exposing my neck so his lips could press there.
Then I felt the sharp sting of a bite that had my legs clenching around him, intolerably turned on by this feral sort of desire from such a controlled man.
“Is there any reason we can’t?” he asked, his breath ragged in my ear as he rocked harder against me.
We both knew what he was asking.
Tests, results, a lifetime commitment to each other in nine months.
None of which he needed to worry about.
“No,” I said, breathless. “Unless… you…”
His head lifted, his dark eyes flaming depths of need.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about from me,” he said, slipping his hips back, then surging deep inside me.
I couldn’t tell you what was louder: my cry, or the groan that escaped him.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he ground out, rocking just a little deeper.
“Please,” I whimpered, fingernails digging into his shoulders as my hips wiggled, too desperate for friction to care how much I was begging of this man.