My Cruel Lover (Wicked Poison #3) Read Online T.L. Smith

Categories Genre: Dark, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Wicked Poison Series by T.L. Smith
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Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
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“I’ve already seduced you. Now it’s all about getting you into my bed.” I step away from his touch and wander around his bed. I can tell which side he sleeps on because his phone charger is there.

“Why such a big bed?”

“I like my space.”

“You don’t like to cuddle?” I ask while attempting to hold back my laugh.

“No, I do not like to cuddle.”

“Pity. I love to cuddle. Especially naked. When you get so close that you can just slide …” I open my mouth to an O and snap it shut, “… straight in. It’s one of my favorite positions.” I smirk at him.

“Is that so?”

“Very much so,” I tell him, dropping the towel and then pulling my panties off before removing his shirt and climbing into his side of the bed. I pull the duvet over me and lie on my side.

“Well, I’m all for experiments,” he says before removing his pants. He comes to the bed and gets in the same side as me, pushing me over until we both fit. His hand runs down my side before it gets to my ass and travels farther down until he grabs the spot directly under my knee and hooks it over his waist. That same hand then moves between us until he finds my clit and rubs just a little. He brings his fingers up and holds them in front of my mouth. “Lick.”

I do as he says and taste myself. He smirks and then licks his own fingers, the ones I just licked and puts his hand back between us so he can rub my clit again.

I start moving and arching into him, and he bites his lip, his dark eyes turning heated before he leans over and kisses my exposed neck.

Feeling anything for Beckham is not something I ever wanted to do.

It wasn’t meant to happen.

How did it even happen?

I shake my head when I feel him at my entrance. He hikes my leg up higher on his waist and slides inside me. I pull myself closer until no air can squeeze between us, and he starts moving.

Lips, hot and heated, continue to kiss me, stealing them as a thief does jewelry in the night. I let him steal my diamonds because I know in return, he will make something out of them.

And it will be magical.

Until it isn’t.

I push him away so his kisses can stop thieving, and when I do, he pauses. I catch my breath and push him again, so he rolls on to his back, and I go with him. Now on top of him, I push my wet hair over my shoulders and start moving my hips.

Beckham lightly strolls his fingers down my back until he reaches my ass and slaps it.

I move faster, and his hands grip and help me move even faster.

To walk away would be smart.

To not get involved would be smarter.

I have managed to do so up to this point.

We have managed to work together at the office, but now it feels different. Everything feels different. Especially when I see him staring at me the way he is now. It makes me feel so many emotions. And none of them I should be having for my boss. Of that, I am sure.

“Stop that.” My hands grip his face, and I push it away so he can’t stare at me any longer. I close my eyes as I come, and he keeps on moving me, pulling my head down so my face is directly in front of him.

“Kiss me.”

And I do because it’s better than the alternative.

When he comes, he holds me to him, not letting me go.

Eventually, I say, “I need to use the bathroom,” and try to get off of him.

He lets me leave, but his gaze tracks me as I grab his shirt and head to the ensuite through the glass doors and throw it over my body as I shut the door.

The shower has two heads and is four times the size of mine. I use the bathroom and wash my hands, then splash water on my face.

Telling myself I can walk out there, I do.

When I open the door, the light is on and Beckham isn’t there, but then I hear, “He’s asleep.” Beckham’s standing in the doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“You checked in on Oliver?” I ask.

“It’s adults I don’t like. I love kids,” he says, walking back to the bed. “You have a good kid.” He throws back the duvet, loses his towel, and slides in, holding the cover open for me. “You look good in my shirt but much better with it off.”

“No more sex. I can’t risk Oliver walking in. I don’t even know why I allowed it the first time,” I say while looking at the door.


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