Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
My mouth drags across hers—not a mere kiss, but a claiming—and the ache to be inside her is a physical thing now, clawing at me to get out. But I’m also enjoying this change of pace… slow and unhurried, as if we don’t have the past chasing us.
The first press of my cock against her heat nearly undoes me.
She lifts for me, hips tilted, welcoming me like she’s been waiting her whole life for this. I drive in slow, deliberate, the tight pull of her body wrapping around me, stretching for me, squeezing the air from my lungs.
It feels obscene. It feels perfect.
I bury deep in a single push, the pulse of her walls around me triggering every primal instinct I have to claim, to possess, to brand her with every thrust.
When I start to move, a guttural sound tears from my throat. Nothing controlled. Nothing civilized. Just raw need and I don’t hold back.
Her knees press into my sides, framing me, caging me to her. I shift, bracing one hand at the back of her thigh, forcing her open wider so I can sink deeper.
And fuck me—watching it is worse. Watching where we’re joined, the slow retreat, the slide back in, wet and perfect, has my head spinning.
“Fuck, this feels good,” I growl against her ear and she shivers in my arms.
I lift slightly, dragging my mouth down the column of her throat as my hips grind into her. I’m lost… heaving at the sharp edge of control.
Pressure builds, relentless and coiling, but I fight it back. I’m not ready to let go yet. Not until I drag her with me.
My rhythm stays steady, harder now, rougher, because I know she can take it—hell, she thrives on it. Mila’s tough and she’s a fighter.
The way her body clenches around me—tight, fluttering—tells me she’s close, but not quite there yet.
I want her undone.
I want her wrecked.
I pull back just enough, capturing her hand in mine, guiding it between us. Not a request. Not a suggestion.
“Touch yourself,” I rasp before giving her neck a tiny bite.
Mila’s eyes pop open in surprise, her gaze traveling down between our bodies where I’m forcing her fingers against her clit. She looks back to me in question. “Do it,” I growl.
Those beautiful eyes flash with heat and my jaw locks as she grants my dirty wish, her body tensing beneath me. She moves in slow circles at first, clearly a little hesitant. But then her body takes over and instinct kicks in.
My hips pick up speed. Harder. Deeper. My eyes are pinned to her hand, working magic against her clit, and she makes tiny cries of pleasure with every pass. The muscles in my body strain to hold the line and then—fucking hell—she shatters so prettily. “Oh God,” she cries out. “Penn.”
Her body tightens, arches, clenches around me like a vise as her orgasm hits. She’s wild beneath me, shaking, writhing, and I feel the sharp ripple of her release grip me from within.
It breaks me.
I rear up, palms locking behind her knees, lifting her hips clean off the bed. My thrusts turn punishing, brutal, no finesse left in me at all—just raw, desperate power driving me into her.
It only takes a few strokes before my release slams into me like a freight train, relentless and vicious, wringing every ounce of strength from my body as I lose myself inside her.
I groan deep in my chest, a sound I barely recognize, as my orgasm surges, pumping into her until there’s nothing left but the ragged echo of my breath.
Slowly, I lower Mila back to the mattress, my body folding over hers. My arms wrap around her, not because I’m strong, but because I need her to hold me together.
My face presses into her neck, heart hammering like I just went to war.
And maybe I did.
Because nothing’s ever felt like this before.
I roll to my side, taking her with me and settle her against my body. As a man who’s spent a lot of time alone in bed, I thought it might be strange to share it. Rather than cramp my space, I can’t seem to get her close enough.
Our breathing returns to normal and all is quiet. I wonder what she’s thinking, because no matter how deep my feelings are getting, doubt always creeps in.
So I simply ask, “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
Mila traces a lazy finger over my stomach. “I was thinking about Peter.”
I grimace. She can’t see my face, but I’m sure she can hear it. “Not sure I like you thinking about your brother after we just fucked our brains out.”
Mila lifts her head, gives me a chastising look. “Not him particularly, just the entire idea of him helping us to take down Jace.”
Admittedly, I don’t want to give the bastard any credit, but if it weren’t for him, we’d be nowhere right now. Still, I find myself saying, “I don’t trust him.”