Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I cry out in surprise when he closes his mouth over the lace of my panties, his tongue hot and wet and soft, the lace rough. He growls—he fucking growls—and I see the effort it takes him to draw back.
I’m panting as he releases my thighs, dropping to his knees. He’s breathing hard, too, as he slides the panties off me.
He pushes my legs apart, hands rough on my thighs as he shifts his gaze back to my pussy, taking his time to look his fill at me spread open before him, a feast to a starving beast.
“Fuck, Madelena,” he says, the words more a vibration of his chest than sound before he buries his head between my legs.
My breath catches in my throat, and all I can do is grab hold of him, pulling his hair and I’m not sure if it’s to push him off or grind against him as he sinks his teeth into me.
I’ve never felt anything like this. Nothing. And the sounds that I hear, it’s me. It’s me panting and whimpering as I grind against him. I fist handfuls of hair, my feet braced on his shoulders and when he closes his mouth around my clit and sucks, I am undone. I come like I’ve never come before. Never. I come so fucking hard, and my moan… it’s his fucking name.
I’m whimpering, twisting onto my side, my fingers finally loosening as orgasm subsides. He watches me, his lips glistening as I shamelessly squeeze my thighs together to squeeze the last of this new, intense pleasure, still fucking moaning like some animal myself.
He watches, just watches, one hand disappearing where I can’t see it. Is he fisting himself?
My breath trembles, my legs hanging limp over the foot of the bed.
Santos stands, his gaze imprisoning mine as he does. He watches me, wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and I see in his eyes that he’s still hungry.
“What did you say about never coming for me?” he asks in a low voice.
It takes me a very long time to remember what I’d said. He grins, self-satisfied, and I force myself to sit up, glaring daggers at him.
“Remind me again?” he taunts, crossing the room to pour himself a glass of water from the chilled bottle. He turns back to me as he drinks it looking like the cat who swallowed the canary—and I’m the fucking canary.
He sets the glass down, then returns to me. I force my muscles to work, and climb up on my knees just as he reaches me.
“Remind me what it was you said about not coming for me,” he says. Before I can do anything, he slips his hand into the front clasp of the lace bra and a moment later, it’s gone, discarded along with the rest of my clothes.
I launch myself at him, using those claws he so enjoys mocking me about, raking my nails down his chest. He laughs, grabbing the back of my head to draw me to him, holding my face an inch from his, not kissing me though because he knows I’ll fucking bite.
I tear at his shirt, feeling the strength of him, ripping it from him as his muscles bunch. I’m like an animal, wild and enraged. I hear myself as I attack, and I know I’m hurting him when he takes my arms, that grin finally gone as he tells me to stop—shakes me, any playfulness vanished.
“I said stop,” he commands.
I manage to get a fistful of his dress shirt and rip it all the way down, buttons popping before he pulls me far enough to make me stop.
“Stop?” I ask, trying to get at him again. “Fuck you!”
An animal-like growl rumbles from inside his chest as he tosses me backward onto the bed then flips me onto my stomach. I yelp as he hauls my hips up and pushes my head down so I can’t look back. He’s got my arms criss-crossed behind me.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says with that rumble, like the warning rattle of a snake behind his words.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like it when the tables turn?” The bed dips as he climbs on and uses his knees to force mine to part. I fight him, but he’s so much stronger than me. He holds onto my arms with one hand and brings the other to the back of my head to grip my hair and tug my head backward as he leans over me.
“No, Little Kitty. It’s because some things are better left unseen,” he says, his voice different than moments ago, darker, more dangerous.
He straightens, and I’m not sure if it’s the loss of his body heat or the words themselves that send a shiver through me.
I stop fighting and look back. His shirt is hanging off his shoulders, ripped apart. The glimpse of skin I get is strange. But when he shifts his attention from my face down to my ass, I’m hyper aware that right now, I am fully exposed to him. He can see every fucking inch of me, and he holds complete power over me.