Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
I slip my fingers beneath her underwear and find her drenched and swollen, like I’ve been making her wait too long.
Silently, I promise never to make her wait again.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, her voice barely audible as she tucks her face to my neck. “That feels so good. You have no idea, Grammercy. So good…”
“All I want to do is make you feel good,” I say, gently guiding her hand from my cock.
I can’t focus on her when she’s touching me, and right now, she’s what matters. I can feel how much she needs this in the way she trembles as I glide a finger inside her. She’s so ready it nearly undoes me, her slick heat coating my skin, making my jaw clench.
I glance around just long enough to confirm no one’s close to our booth, but we’re fine. We’re still deep in shadows, the table pressed into our chests, the music loud enough to give us cover as she gasps softly as I circle her clit. She claws a hand into my shirt again, like she’s holding on for dear life, already bracing for impact.
“Can I make you come for me, chère?” I murmur, my lips against her ear, “I want to make you come, baby. You’re so damn beautiful when you’re wet and spread wide for me.”
“We shouldn’t,” she whispers, but she rocks into my hand as I pump into her again, using two fingers this time.
“Just hide your face,” I whisper. “No one will see.”
She bites her lip hard as she buries her face in my neck again, shuddering as I find a slow, sensual rhythm, fucking her with my fingers as I rub the heel of my hand against her clit.
“God, Grammercy, you’re so good at that,” she breathes. Then again, a beat later, more desperate, “God, please, don’t stop. Please, I—”
“Never,” I promise as I speed my pace just a little, matching the swell of the music as I take her there. I can feel her getting close, her body tense, strung tight against mine as she rocks against me beneath the table.
In just a few more strokes, she’s bucking into my hand, riding the edge with an abandon that makes my cock start to leak pre-come. I’m imagining how good it would feel to be inside her tight little pussy, about to come in my pants like a teenager, when she lifts her head from my shoulder, finding my lips with hers.
The kiss is messy, frantic, starving, all teeth and tongue, and this shared need for each other that’s more intense than anything I’ve ever felt with a woman.
“Right there, angel,” I growl against her mouth. “I feel you, chère. Let go for me. Come on, baby. I’ve got you. Come for me, sweetness. Need to feel you come so bad.”
She shudders hard, shattering as she falls apart in my arms, biting down hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying out. And I feel it all, every pulse and flutter and clench of her body, every ragged gasp as she soaks my fingers.
And still, she keeps kissing me, ragged and sweet and wild, like she can’t stop.
I know I can’t.
I never want to stop.
I hold her close as she rides the last of the wave, both of us trembling, our foreheads pressed together as the jazz swells into a storm of brass and bass and heat. The music is everywhere, but the only thing I can focus on is the woman in my arms, the woman I need in my bed as soon as humanly possible.
She shivers as I kiss the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her temple, silently telling her she’s all I want.
She exhales, her lashes fluttering as she meets my gaze with wide, steady eyes—like maybe she’s been expecting this all along. Suspecting that we were meant to be so much fucking more than roommates. Suspecting that this “fake” love is becoming the real thing with a speed that’s wild, but real.
So fucking real.
Her hand finds my face, her thumb brushing slowly back and forth against my cheek in a caress that makes my chest tight.
Then, in the quiet between two songs, she whispers, “Take me home and make love to me?”
I nod and promise, “Anything you want, Elly. Anything.”
And I mean it. I’m going to make every dream she has come true or die trying, starting with worshipping her body with mine.
All night long.
Chapter
Sixteen
ELLY
The cab ride home is torture.
Sweet, beautiful, miraculous torture…
Grammercy Graves wants me as much as I want him. My fake husband feels it, too—this wild, perfect, almost fated pull between us. I’m not alone!
I’m not alone, I’m not crazy, and in just a few minutes, I’m going to know what it’s like to make love to the man of my dreams. The enormity of it is enough to make my head spin.