Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I can’t get enough. I never will.
We fuck like that until we both come hard.
She comes first, clenching around me with a broken cry, her body trembling violently in my lap as her orgasm crashes through her. Her walls milk me so perfectly it drags me right over the edge with her. I spill deep inside her. A low, guttural groan rips through me.
We stay like that for a long time afterward.
Breathing hard. Foreheads pressed together. My arms wrapped tight around her, holding her close while the plane’s engine hums steadily, carrying us through the sky. The only thing that matters right now is her.
She is warm, spent, and completely mine.
Chapter Sixty-Two
VIOLA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fQkmrTfKhlE
We arrive at the villa just as the sun is beginning its slow descent toward the Pacific.
The driver turns off the main coastal road onto a private, winding path carved into the cliffs of Malibu. The house appears gradually. A stunningly modern estate perched on the edge of the world. It seems to be made entirely of glass and warm stone, with sweeping ocean views that make my breath catch. It’s the kind of place only the extremely rich can disappear to. It is completely private, surrounded by high walls and lush landscaping, and with no other properties in sight. The air smells of salt and wild rosemary, and the breeze is cool against my skin after the flight. I feel like I’ve stepped into another world.
A discreet staff member comes out to greet us and leads us inside.
The moment we enter the suite, I’m blown away. The interior is gorgeous, breathtaking actually.
Our room is open and airy, with floor-to-ceiling glass walls that frame the endless blue of the ocean like a living painting. There is a king-sized bed with crisp white linens. But what really steals my breath is the private infinity pool just outside on the terrace, its water merging seamlessly with the horizon. The late afternoon light dances across the surface, turning everything golden and dreamlike. I’m instantly itching to go outside, to feel the ocean air on my skin, to dip my toes in that water and let the sound of the waves wash over me.
But when I turn to Ricci, I see the exhaustion in his eyes.
It’s there in the slight slump of his shoulders, the faint shadows beneath his whiskey gaze, the way he rubs the back of his neck like the weight of the world is still pressing on him. He’s been running on empty for days now, and even though he tries to hide it, I can read him now. I don’t hesitate.
“Come on,” I say softly, taking his hand. “Shower with me.”
He doesn’t argue and lets me lead him into the luxurious bathroom. The water is hot and steamy as it cascades over us, and for a while we just stand there under the spray, his arms wrapped around me from behind, my back against his chest. I feel the tension slowly melt from his body. Then I wash him, my hands gentle on his shoulders, down his back, over the hard planes of muscles that carry so much. He does the same for me, his touch reverent, lingering on every curve like he’s memorizing me. We don’t speak much. We don’t need to. The water, the steam, the quiet closeness… It’s enough.
We dry off and crawl into the huge bed together, wonderfully clean, limbs tangled. Sleep comes fast for me, deep and dreamless, wrapped in each other’s warmth with the sound of the ocean in the distance.
When I wake, the sky has turned a soft twilight purple, and he is awake and just looking at me.
“What?” I whisper.
“Nothing,” he whispers back, then he smiles. That rare smile. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” I admit.
“Good. We have reservations.”
We get dressed then. I choose a green off-the-shoulder dress that clings to me like a second skin, the color rich and vibrant against my skin. It drapes beautifully, falling in soft waves to the floor, the fabric cool and sensual as it moves with me. I catch Ricci watching me in the mirror as I slip it on, his eyes dark and hungry, unable to look away.
He looks devastating in a simple, black button-down and tailored trousers, the sleeves rolled up to show his forearms. I can’t take my eyes off him either.
He takes my hand, his fingers warm and sure as they lace through mine, and leads me out of the villa toward the cliffside restaurant. The short walk feels almost dreamlike, the path winding gently through manicured gardens where night-blooming jasmine plants climb the low stone walls, filling the air with their heady perfume. The evening breeze is warm and velvety against my bare shoulders, carrying the salty scent of the ocean that grows stronger with every step. Soft lanterns line the path, their golden glow flickering gently, casting dancing shadows across the pale stone path beneath our feet. I can already hear the ocean, its low, constant rhythm of waves rolling in and breaking against the rocks far below.