Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
He lifts his glass again, utterly composed. “Perhaps you should check?”
My eyes widen. “You want me to check?”
“Yes.”
“I—” I swallow. “You want me to touch myself?”
He exhales a stream of smoke, his gaze never wavering. “Just like you did the other night.”
My mouth goes dry as heat floods my face.
“You heard me?” I whisper.
He nods, calm and utterly unapologetic. “Not only did I hear you, I watched.”
There’s a flicker of mortification, but it’s instantly eclipsed by something darker as arousal curls through me.
“You did?”
He takes another sip of bourbon. “Yes. So, I know you understand exactly how to touch your pussy.”
The crudeness of his words doesn’t shock me anymore. It makes my thighs clench even tighter. And this time, I don’t even try to stop it.
“Sit,” he says, motioning to the thick glass coffee table in front of him.
I blink. “On the table?”
“Lilah.”
It’s just my name.
But the way he says it?
Low. Patient. Full of authority.
It’s impossible to resist.
I cross the room, my bare feet whispering over the floor before lowering myself carefully onto the glass. It’s cool against my skin, hard and unyielding, which only sharpens everything I’m feeling.
I spread my legs a little, feeling both unsure and self-conscious.
He exhales, smoke unfurling from the corner of his mouth as his gaze sweeps over me.
“No,” he says slowly. “That won’t do. Lie back, sweetheart. And spread your legs wide.”
My pulse pounds in my ears as I ease onto my back. The sharp edge of the table bites into my spine. Even though I’m quivering with nerves, I do exactly as he instructs and part my legs wider until I feel the air brush over the slick heat of my center.
I’m completely open to him.
Exposed.
Bare.
And somehow, it only amplifies my arousal.
“More,” he murmurs, swirling the bourbon in his glass. “I want to see all of you. Every pink inch.”
I shift again, spreading my legs farther apart until I feel vulnerable and filthy and powerful.
He still doesn’t move.
He just watches.
And somehow that’s worse.
Better.
All of it.
His gaze skates over me like a caress as he takes another puff of his cigar. The glow brightens in the shadows before he releases the smoke in a lazy stream.
I’ve never been studied in this manner before.
“I’m waiting.”
My hand trembles as I slide it down my stomach. When my fingers find the slick ache between them, my eyelids feather shut on instinct.
“Eyes on me,” he growls.
My lashes snap open and my gaze locks back on him.
And when I touch myself in front of him, it’s like something inside me unravels.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, edged with bourbon and smoke.
The praise, paired with the warm scent of tobacco and the intensity of his expression, sends a fresh wave of heat spiraling through me. I moan, fingers circling my clit in slow, shaky strokes.
Just like I did the other night.
Only this time, I’m not alone.
Steele is here.
Watching.
Guiding.
Owning every sound that spills from my lips.
“So tell me,” he rasps, “are you wet?”
“Very.”
“I can see it,” he says, gaze locked between my legs. “Glistening on your skin. Absolutely stunning.”
My spine bows against the cool surface, a shiver rolling through me. Still, he doesn’t move. He just watches, completely in control, his bourbon clutched in one hand, his cigar burning low between the fingers of his other.
And I’ve never felt more wanted.
More seen.
More his.
I grow more desperate with every caress, but it’s not enough.
No matter what I do, it’s not him.
I need his mouth.
His hands.
His control.
I’ve never felt anything like this before.
Not even close.
I’m buzzing, every inch of me hypersensitive. Strung impossibly tight, electric and sparking with need. Every flick of my fingers pushes me toward something that feels dangerously close to unraveling.
From the couch, Steele’s gaze pins me in place. The cigar between his fingers glows as he lifts it to his lips again, smoke escaping from his mouth, as if he’s unaffected.
But when he speaks, his voice is rougher.
“Goddamn, Lilah. You have no idea how gorgeous you are stretched out and shaking for me.”
My lips part as a small whimper breaks free, and my fingers falter.
Steele sets down the glass and leans forward slowly, like he’s in no rush, like he’s savoring every second of this. I brace for the touch of his hand.
I need it.
Crave it.
Instead, something else brushes between my thighs.
A foreign, unexpected sensation.
Something that’s both warm and solid.
The blunt end of the cigar.
My eyes widen and a startled sound slips from me.
He drags it along the seam of my body, featherlight and maddeningly slow, never pushing in. His lips lift into the faintest smile, as if he’s reading every thought that flickers through my head.
“Do you feel that?” he murmurs, dragging the smooth end over my most sensitive flesh.
I nod, unable to speak.
When my hips shift helplessly toward the sensation, the cigar disappears.
My breath catches as he lifts it to his mouth and takes a puff.