Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
He’s not done. Not even close. He pulls out of me with a wet smacking sound that makes my thighs quiver, and before I can even whimper at the loss, he’s flipping me over onto my stomach.
My face is buried in the sheets, my ass in the air, and I’m spread so wide I can feel the cool air teasing my slick, swollen pussy.
His fingers dig into my hips with a possessive intensity, each touch leaving a burning imprint on my skin. He pulls me toward him with a force that sends a shiver up my spine, and with one powerful thrust, he fills me completely. His cock slides so deep, I swear I can feel him in my throat.
“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice so rough it’s like gravel scraping against my skin. And he’s right. He owns every single inch of my body and soul. His hips slam into me with a relentless rhythm. Each thrust hits the sweet spot deep inside driving me wild. My tits bounce with every movement, my nipples so hard they ache, and I’m moaning like a freaking porn star. My voice breaks with every brutal stroke and I know I’ll be hoarse tomorrow.
Then his hand snakes around my hip, and his fingers finds my clit with unerring precision. He rubs it in tight, frantic circles, and I know I’m about to come so hard I’ll see stars.
My legs shake as my pussy clenches hard around his cock. I’m pretty sure I’m screaming his name. Or at least I think I am. It’s hard to tell when my brain is short-circuiting from the sheer pleasure coursing through me.
He leans over me, and his warm, muscular chest presses against my back. His breath is hot against my ear as he whispers, “Come for me, fever. Let me feel you.” And just like that, I explode.
My orgasm hits me like a freight train causing my pussy to spasm around his cock as I scream my pleasure into the sheets. He doesn’t stop, though. He keeps fucking me through it, his cock pounding into me with a ferocity that leaves me breathless.
And then, finally, he’s there too. I feel him pulsing inside me, and his cock twitching as he fills me up with his cum. He collapses on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, and we’re both panting like we just ran a marathon. His arms wrap around me, pulling me close, and I can feel his heart racing against my back.
But even then, he’s not done. His hand slides down my body, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my clit, and I can feel him hardening inside me again. “Round two?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, and I can’t help but laugh because this man is insatiable, and so am I.
CHAPTER 9
WYATT
I stare at the front door of the Bardot house and realize I’ve never been in this situation before and I’m not going to lie meeting my soulmate’s family is terrifying.
I ring the bell and juggle the fucking flowers and bottle of wine. My palms are slick. I’m supposed to be the guy who keeps his shit together under sniper fire, but right now I’d rather bodycheck a stampede of crazed groupies than walk through this door.
It opens fast, and June Bardot stands in the frame. She’s about five-four, auburn hair streaked with silver, and sharp blue eyes that seem to see right into my soul. She’s wearing a floral blouse tucked into jeans, and her arms are crossed in the universal pose of “we’ll see if you’re worth my daughter’s time.” She gives me a once-over, no apology, then sets her mouth in a polite smile.
“Wyatt,” she stares unblinking. “Come in.” She steps aside and I enter, boots barely making a sound on the glossy hardwood. “Please call me June.”
Inside, it’s all family photos and weird, homey art. Every surface seems to have a story. I see a crooked vase holding three petrified roses, a faded theater poster with a hand-written “Congratulations, Naomi!” in gold marker, the glass bowl of candy sitting on the hall table. It’s lived-in, not staged, and the air smells like roasted chicken and something spicy.
“I hope you like Pinot.” I hand her the bottle of wine I grabbed from Roman’s extensive collection. He assured me this will impress so I’m believing him.
June closes the door behind me with a deliberate click. “Thank you for the wine,” she says, taking it from me. She doesn’t look at the label.
“These are also for you,” I say, and my voice comes out with a goddamn hitch that shows how fucking nervous I am.
Her eyebrows go up as her steely eyes soften a little. “I hope you’re not just buttering me up.” She gives me a tentative smile.