Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“Like you wandered in here accidentally.”
“I was looking for…” My words trail off as his hand rises between us and his thumb touches my bottom lip.
“You don’t look like anyone else here. Or anyone I’d like to share.”
My legs almost give out, my heart going haywire. There. I draw in a taut breath as he lowers his head, the moment unfolding frame by exquisite frame. The sweep of his lashes. The press of his fingers at my waist. The heady scent of his cologne and the soft press of his breath.
He doesn’t kiss me as his thumb slips from my mouth. Liquid heat floods my body as he brings it to his own. He’s tasting me.
“As I thought.” Still so close, his words feel like kisses blown across my lips. “You taste like trouble.”
Competent. Conscientious. Hardworking. Passably pretty. A good sister and friend. The accolades pale in comparison.
I’m not sure which of us is more surprised as my fingers wrap around his lapels, and I tip onto my toes. My lips tremble as they brush over his, soft and featherlight. His whole body stills and, for a moment, I think he might pull away. But maybe his brain was playing catchup as he kisses me back. I wind my fingers in his hair and, oh my, the low rumbling sound he makes as I pull on those silky strands. I feel the power of it inside me, swallowing it deep into my center.
Between one breath and the next, he takes charge, kissing me like he’s a dying man and I’m air. Overcome, I close my eyes, but the darkness only serves to sharpen every sensation. The wine on his tongue and wild darkness beneath it. The smooth brush of his cheek against mine and heat rising from his skin. He smells of spice and cedar, and his mouth is lush and clever and—
He puts his strong thigh between my legs, and a breath stutters out of me. The noise he makes as he swallows it down sounds mildly pornographic. His fingers tug my blouse from my skirt, and skim teasingly above the waistband. Heat and light pulse through me, blood sizzling in my veins, as such lurid images wash across my brain.
The press of his hand. The feel of his teeth.
Above me, inside me, the hard thrust claiming me deep.
His hand spans my side, sliding up my ribs where he cups the weight of my breast. When his thumb sweeps over my nipple, it seems to liquify my bones.
Thank God for the press of his thigh.
“So sweet.” His thumb circles the hardened bud as he watches my face, weighing my reactions. The way I sigh. How my tongue darts out to moisten my lips. I close my eyes overwhelmed by his attentions. “Don’t hide from me, little one.” I’m not even little. I’m average-sized. Height. Weight. In other ways. But then he molds my breast and whispers how perfectly I fit into his hand.
The wall is cold at my back, yet I feel like my skin is on fire. My breathing is so loud, I wonder distantly if I might be having an asthma attack as he pops the buttons on my blouse. He flips the cup of my bra, releasing my nipple to the cool night air. He gives a firm tug, and I make a broken sound. His dark head dips to engulf my nipple, and I whimper as his teeth graze the already tight bud. As he swirls and sucks and pulls, his gaze flicks upward, triumph and wickedness shining there.
This is what I’ve been missing—the reason I’ve never understood how otherwise sensible people could make rash decisions in the name of lust. The dopamine rush. The dizzying high of being desired. Some intoxicating chemical alchemy that lights up a brain like a pinball machine.
And God, I want it. Crave it. The press of skin against skin, oxytocin flooding my system.
But more than the rush, more than the chemistry, I want him.
“You’d let me have you right here.”
My whimper is hardly a denial; neither is the way I’m practically riding his thigh as I feel myself growing wetter by the second.
“You’d let me fuck you against this cold wall.” Along with his wicked whisper, his fingers trail a path up my thigh.
The answer is yes, but I’m not supposed to understand the question. This is positively Victorian compared with what’s going on upstairs…
“But not before I taste you.”
Before my mind can process, my dark-haired stranger drops to his knees, taking my panties with him. His breath brushes over me in a shiver-inducing warm caress.
“Pretty.” His thumb presses inside, his tongue darting a hot lick to where I’m exposed.
“Oh, my God!”
“Dieu, I have to taste you.” His half-growled words are barely audible as he buries his tongue inside me.