Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
I can do nothing but nod in confirmation.
I know. I know.
“In the middle of the night when I reach for you again, you’ll let me have you, won’t you?”
As he asks, he dips two fingers inside me, and I only barely succeed in swallowing my cry. It’s like he’s cast a spell over me. His words intoxicate me to the point that my limbs are languid and useless. My skin is feverish and tingly. His fingers pump inside me and already I’m anxious for him to bring me back to the edge, to shatter me all over again.
I’m reaching for him, trying to bring his face closer to mine. With two hands positioned under my arms, he hoists me higher up on the bed so I’m nestled in the middle rather than hanging off the side. Then his knee spreads my thighs, and he settles himself over me.
My desire feels so heavy and hot radiating through me.
I wet my bottom lip as I watch him roll on the condom. It’s silly that I feel suddenly nervous, that now I tremble, when just a moment ago his face was pressed between my legs. I try to stop myself from overthinking, but there’s no denying that this time, with Cristiano, feels different for a million reasons, and there’s no way to get ahead of it. I’m already drowning in him as he rolls his hips so that his hardness rubs against me.
He does it again, and the sensation drags me down to even headier depths. The slightest pinprick could undo me.
And then, he finally starts to thrust into me. The muscles in his shoulders bunch as he holds himself back, going achingly slow, pausing when I tense, soothing the ache with a kiss to my hair. Eventually, when he’s all the way in, I realize I’m holding my breath, and I let out a long, shaky exhale.
He goes still, enraptured by his claim over me. He pulls out halfway, then seats himself again, agonizingly slowly. He could be focused solely on his own pleasure, but he remains entirely focused on me as his hand returns between my legs, sending small jolts rippling through me.
I start to adjust to his size, my hips relaxing, my jaw unclenching. I rub my hands over the half-moon marks my nails left on his biceps, trying to give a silent apology. I doubt he can even feel them. Not now that his hips are starting to rock in steady, shallow thrusts. Not as he swallows my moan with a frenzied kiss.
Instead of pinning me down, he holds himself up, working his hips in an excruciating rhythm. No man has ever undone me in this way. It’s like he’s peeling back skin and bone and sinew and reaching inside me.
God, his body. The way he uses it like a weapon and a salve. He hits that deep spot within me when our hips join together. He knows it’s something special because he holds there, testing me, his attention on my face as his hand strokes me again.
Our eyes meet and I look away for a moment, overwhelmed. He pauses those perfect circles between my legs and thrusts into me hard enough that I gasp.
Understood.
I look at him again and see the wicked gleam in his eyes. Pure unadulterated possession. His look says, You’re mine, and in this moment, I feel like I am.
His pace picks up, and all at once—I see stars as waves of pleasure overtake me. I come with such force I know he won’t last much longer even as he tries to prolong it. Concentration furrows his brow and then he’s taking me even harder, faster. I wrap my legs around his hips and with a deep, guttural moan, he lets go. I hold him against me, absorbing every racked shiver.
Neither one of us moves, not at first. He stays inside me as we catch our breath. I kiss his cheek, and he turns to face me. Dark hooded eyes framed by darker lashes.
“Hi,” he says gently.
I smile at him. “Hi.”
We’re reacquainting ourselves with each other, and the sweetness of his smile could make my heart burst. In a moment, we’ll peel apart and clean up and then get ready for bed a second time, but for now, he brushes a few tendrils of hair off my face and I’m content to lie here, grappling with feelings that seem to be expanding every second I’m held in Cristiano’s arms.
In the morning, the view of the bay outside Cristiano’s window is as beautiful as I’d hoped it would be. Though it’s early, fishing boats and sailboats bob on the turquoise water. Old houses peek through the trees in the surrounding hills. Cristiano’s nearest neighbor is out watering her lemon trees while a scraggly brown dog runs circles around her feet, yapping playfully until the old woman lowers the garden hose so he can chomp at the spray.