Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
He complies, moving the phone and angling it to give me the view I crave. All of him.
“You spoke to me from the heart tonight. That means the world to me,” I tell him.
His blue eyes are earnest, vulnerable. “I knew you’d want that. I should say no to you. But I’m having a really fucking hard time right now.” He fingers the next button on his jeans. “Can I take off my clothes for you?”
I groan my approval. “Yes.”
He pops open another button, then another. His Adam’s apple moves as he swallows, then he pushes his jeans off, leaving on a pair of purple underwear with my name on the waistband.
“When you wear my underwear, I feel like your body belongs to me.”
“It does,” he rasps.
“Good. You’re mine tonight. You know that, right?” I ask him roughly, my tone clearly requiring an answer.
“I’m yours,” he says, waiting patiently.
“Stroke the outline of your cock,” I tell him.
He listens, gripping himself roughly, moaning savagely. “Rafe,” he grunts. “What do you want me to do next? I’ll do anything.”
I give a small smile. “I appreciate your attitude. You’ll be rewarded for it.”
His mouth falls open, and a staggered breath escapes those lips. He grips his cock, squeezes it through the fabric. “I want your rewards.”
I keep my tone measured, controlled. That turns me on. That turns him on. “What kind of view does your room have?”
“It looks out over Park Avenue.”
Wicked delight fills my heart. “Go to the window, then. I saw a desk there. Set your phone on it and stand with your back to the window. I want to see Manhattan behind you.”
He obeys, bringing the phone, putting it down on the desk, and angling it just so. I can see the building across the street behind him. Anyone walking by on the same floors can see his back, and soon, they’ll be able to see his ass.
What a bunch of lucky New Yorkers.
“That’s perfect,” I say as I indulge in the view. It’s nearly midnight in Manhattan. Gunnar stands in front of the window with New York City about to watch him strip.
For me.
“Don’t move from there,” I command.
“I won’t,” he says, so obedient, so full of desire.
“Take off your underwear,” I tell him. In a hot second, he strips the purple underwear. His gorgeous cock springs free. There’s a bead of arousal waiting at the tip, and I nearly lose my mind. “Is that why you couldn’t turn me down on the plane?” I growl. “Because you know how much you want me? You know what I would do to you?”
He nods, gripping his cock, running his thumb over the head. “That’s why I couldn’t say it. I want you too much.”
“Get out some lube. I don’t want you to suffer anymore.”
“How do you know I brought it?”
“Because I know you need to jack off several times a day. Your sex drive has been sky high since you met me, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.” He steps out of the frame briefly and returns in seconds with a bottle of lube.
“Less than three ounces?”
He smirks. “You know it.”
“Pour it into your palm. Slick up that shaft.” My mouth waters at the sight of him. His erection is thick and proud, and it belongs to me.
“What about you?”
“I’ll show you my dick when I’m good and ready,” I snarl. “I want to see how hot you are for me.”
In front of the window, the gorgeous athlete drizzles lube onto his palm, takes his dick in his hand, and grips himself hard. His eyes slam shut, and he lets out a feral groan. “This isn’t going to take me long,” he says.
“This is why you couldn’t send me that message. It’s not fate, Gunnar,” I tell him, fueled by a rabid desire to show him that I’m not the only one who’s obsessed.
As his fist races up and down his hard length, my cock jumps under the towel, eager to get in on the action. I’m dying to bury myself in his body the next time I see him. To introduce him to the otherworldly pleasure of being fucked by a man who knows how. “Open your eyes,” I order.
He obeys, his jaw going slack as he gazes at my chest, my arms, my face.
“You need my hand, my cock, my words.”
“I do. I really fucking do,” he moans. He’s already panting, his voice telling me he’s close as his fist flies. He pumps his hips, thrusting into his slick palm.
“I can get you there in seconds,” I tell him. I steal a glance at my own cock tenting my towel.
“Get me there,” he begs.
I rip off the towel, letting him feast his eyes on my erection—throbbing, angry, hungry.
The second Gunnar lays eyes on me through the screen his groan practically booms across Park Avenue. “Oh fuck, babe. I want to feel you. I want you in my mouth. Want you in my ass. Want you everywhere,” he says, his fist a blur.