Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
I drop my arm from the wall, teasing a finger along the elastic band of my underwear. “I only left them on so I could watch you take them off.”
His responding groan is cut off by my lips, because he lunges in my direction, lifting me off the floor in one sweeping move, our mouths colliding in a fevered twist. Sipping, suctioning, and pulling. A hurried need to give in and taste. Taste. Taste.
We’re moving.
I have no idea where he’s taking me, but I don’t care. We’re in a secluded cabin in the woods, and there’s so much freedom in this privately shared world. I’m concerned with nothing but the rake of his tongue against mine, the press of a wall against my back.
His hands molding to my butt, that grip keeping me lifted. Lifted so he can press his hips into me there. Right there against the soft swell between my thighs.
“I want to eat you out so fucking bad,” he says through his teeth, gathering the rear material of my panties in his fist and twisting, drawing the cotton up between the cheeks of my backside and pulling until I sob sharply, overwhelmed by the clawing heat in my belly. “Can I kiss you down there, Margot?”
“Yes.” Sensing his need for total clarity, I find his heavy-lidded eyes. “I want to do everything with you tonight. I don’t want to stop.”
He drops his forehead to mine, hissing a curse against my mouth. “Are you sure?”
“A thousand percent,” I whisper. “It’s you.”
I swear I can hear his heart slam a little extra hard when I say that. “It’s you and me,” he amends, pulling me off the wall and carrying me into a room off the kitchen. A screened-in porch that looks out into the woods. A lantern hangs from the ceiling, but he doesn’t bother lighting it. Instead, he carries me to the padded bench that runs along the entire perimeter of the porch.
“I’m not going to make it upstairs,” Dean mutters, setting me on my feet and feeling his way around to the front of me, molding my sex in his big hand through the dampening white cotton. “I’ve spent years getting hard for you. Even when I hadn’t seen you in a year, it was always you I needed to think about.” He delves his fingers inside my panties, slowly, his calloused work hand giving the most unique and mind-blowing friction to my softest flesh. “God, I can’t believe I’m touching your pussy.”
“Me either,” I whisper.
“You like it?”
“Uh-huh.”
His mouth covers mine hungrily, his tongue moving in tandem with his middle finger that parts me gently, rubbing and spreading the abundant moisture. When he grazes my clitoris with his knuckle, my knees lock tight, then give out entirely, forcing Dean to catch me, preventing me from falling. Holding me with his left arm banded around the small of my back, he kisses me deeply, so deeply, while his right hand lowers my panties, pushing them down past my hips until they’re able to slip to my knees.
“Sit on the edge of the bench,” he says, guiding me down, and I go, watching him move with me so fluidly, his knees planting on the floor in front of me as he tugs my panties the rest of the way off, never stopping, planting kisses on my knees, right, left, right, until I’m ready to open my thighs, and when I do, he rises once to press a reassuring kiss to my mouth. Twice. A breath. And then his lips chart a path down my throat to my exposed breast, tonguing my nipple into a tingling point, continuing down my bare tummy to my lap, his capable hands guiding my knees up and over his shoulders. “I’m going to make you come like this, Margot,” he says gruffly, rubbing his mouth against my flesh, his breath accelerating. “When I’m done, if that’s all you want tonight, you tell me.”
“Okay,” I manage, my pulse in a tailspin.
Look at him. On his knees in the dark.
My legs draped over his shoulders.
I’m never getting over this.
Correction: I’m never getting over what he does next. I never really understood the term eat me out, but I comprehend it quickly, watching him do exactly that. His mouth goes into me like a meal, taking whole portions of me between eager lips, rubbing in spots I had no idea were so sensitive, using my wetness and his own spit to turn me into a slippery mess, transforming me into a shaking, whimpering vibration of nerves when he presses my thighs open an inch more and targets my clit, slapping his tongue over it and grinding gently, gently, then with increasing pressure. Grunting and closing his eyes as he does it.
I’ve never been able to shut my overly analytical brain down before, but he does it for me now. I collapse back against a screened window, I think, and sob his name once, and he must hear a request for something I couldn’t voice, because his middle finger pushes inside of me now, and the fullness, oh God, the full pressure of his finger combined with the pattern his tongue takes over my clit jumbles my wits like shaken puzzle pieces, and it happens. I tighten into an orgasm, spasms pulsing my sex, the enormity of the release rocking me in an unexpected way. A loose kind of freedom takes over, and I don’t think . . .