Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“Not yet,” he says. “You don’t get to come yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is a punishment. You ran from me. Put yourself in danger. Nearly died.” His fingers return, building me up again. “So you’re going to learn a lesson in control. Who is in control.”
He brings me to the edge three more times. Each time, just when I’m about to tip over, he stops. By the fourth time, I’m sobbing. Frustration and need rip through me in an almost painful way.
“Calder, please,” I beg, past caring about pride or shame. “Please let me come. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ran. I won’t do it again. Just please—”
“Open your eyes,” he commands. “Look at me.”
I do. His eyes are shadows under ice, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched tight. He looks as wrecked as I feel.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he says roughly.
“I-I can’t—”
“Tell me, or you don’t get to finish.”
The tears come harder now. Because saying it makes it real. Makes it true. Makes it something I can’t take back.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
“Again. Louder.”
“I’m yours.” The words tear out of me, in a half sob, half surrender.
“That’s right.” His thumb presses harder and circles faster. Using his other hand, he slides lower, pushing two fingers inside me. “You’re mine, Saint. Mine to protect. Mine to punish. Mine to pleasure.”
The dual sensation is overwhelming, and within seconds, I’m shattering, my back arching off the bed. A cry tears from my throat that echoes in the small room. The orgasm rolls through me in waves, each one more intense than the last. Calder doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, just works me through it until I’m boneless and gasping, until the pleasure borders on pain, and I’m begging him to stop. When he finally withdraws his hand, I’m trembling all over. Tears streak my temples. My body feels foreign—too sensitive, too aware.
Calder leans over me, one hand braced beside my head. His other hand comes up, thumb brushing away my tears with surprising gentleness.
“You can be a good girl when you want to be,” he murmurs. “Took your punishment like you were supposed to. And hopefully I made my point.”
I can’t speak. Can barely breathe. I just lie there staring up at him while my body remembers how to function. He helps me sit up slowly, hands steadying me when I sway. For a moment, we just look at each other. His breathing is ragged, his jaw still clenched, and I realize with a start that he’s hard. I can see the evidence straining against his jeans.
“You didn’t—” I start.
He grabs his belt buckle, slides it open, then pulls out his straining erection. I gulp as I stare at it, unsure what to do, even as my body lights up all over again. I’ve never seen anything so long or thick before.
“What…how?”
The corner of his mouth tips up. “Don’t worry, sweet Saint. I’ll teach you what you need to know. For now, just scoot forward and open your pretty mouth for me.”
I gulp as warm heat builds in my gut. I’m out of my element here and unsure how he’s going to put that thing in my mouth without choking me to death, but I do as he says, just like on the horse. When he taps the blunt head of his penis against my lips, I gasp, tasting the slick saltiness on the tip of it. Oh.
I lap at the velvety smooth tip, and he groans. “Open your mouth, Saint. If you start lapping at me, I won’t be able to control myself.”
“I’ve never done this before,” I say, thinking maybe that will somehow save me.
“Good. I want to be the man who holds all your firsts. Now open up nice and wide for me.” I swallow my anxiety down and open my mouth.
He slides in gently, and I curl my lips over my teeth instinctively.
“Fuck,” Calder curses as he peers down at me, his eyes hooded. He wears a mask of satisfaction and desire so deep I can almost taste it. Since I’ve never done this before, I don’t know if I’m doing it right. It doesn’t appear to matter since Calder takes control and starts to thrust into my mouth shallowly. “Use your tongue.”
I start to stroke him with my tongue, and it occurs to me then just how much I want to please him. That I want to make him feel this way.
His musky clean scent fills my nostrils, and as I grow more confident, I reach forward and brace my hands on his muscular hips while he threads himself deeper into my mouth. Reaching out, he tangles one of his hands in my hair. His grip is firm but gentle as if to keep me in place.
“Relax for me, sweet girl. Relax your throat so I can go deeper.”
I have no idea what he means, but I try, and somehow he presses deeper. On the next thrust of his hips, he’s deeper than he ever has been, and all I can do is gag and blink away the tears that appear in my eyes from the intrusion. He does it again, and again, his thrusts growing faster and deeper. With each stroke, I choke on his length and my own saliva.