Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Sex mischief.
“The bedroom is no place for threats, so it’s a promise,” I say.
With flames in her eyes, she drags her hand down my chest. “Good, because I’ve been thinking all day about what happens to Lacey.”
“Have you now?”
“I think her hero fucks her against the window in the train as the French countryside speeds by.”
My sexy romance writer has a filthy mind, and I am here for it.
I turn the tables on her, clasping her gorgeous face and slamming my mouth to hers, tasting her, consuming her.
She wants real, raw, unfiltered passion, and I intend to give it to her that way. As I kiss her with a little hurt in it, I undo her jeans roughly, tug at her top harshly. Soon, I’ve stripped her to nothing.
She’s naked in front of me, the moonlight shining across her creamy skin. Her perky tits point right at me. The look in her eyes is both vulnerable and turned on.
She glances down at her chest. “Do you want my tits pressed against the window?” She asks it like it costs her something to say that. But like it frees her too. To have book sex.
“I fucking do,” I tell her. “Go stand there. Now.”
She practically sprints. Fine, it’s only ten feet away, maybe less, but what a sight, that peach of an ass wiggling as she scurries.
Then, she presses her hands on the glass, tits pressed, ass up. I stalk over to her, taking off my glasses and setting them on the table, tugging off my shirt and tossing it to the floor.
From my wallet, I grab a condom, and once that’s safely in hand, I undo my jeans, take out my eager cock, and smack her ass with it.
“Oh!” she yelps.
“Like that?”
I know she does. She’s already moaning. But I’m pretty sure she likes to talk in bed. She likes the chance to say the things she’s only ever written or read.
“Do it again,” she urges.
Gripping the base, I slap my dick against her sweet ass. One cheek, then another, then I rub my hard-on between her thighs, where she’s soaked. “Were you like this all day? Wet and needy for me?”
“I was a hot mess,” she says, bowing her back, her body saying take me now.
What a wild admission. Hazel Valentine walked around Barcelona while hot and horny for me.
I press my palm between her shoulder blades, gently but firmly pushing her forward so those fantastic tits smush against the cold glass. “You were writing this scene all day, weren’t you?”
“Yes. While you talked, I wrote sex in my head.” She shudders as if reveling in whatever wicked feelings are whooshing through her body right now.
“You dirty woman.” I praise her as I push against her, my cock sliding between her folds, gliding against her wetness.
I’m a live wire, sparking everywhere.
But I want tonight to be even better than last night—for her. It’s a tall order, but I’m up to the task, especially when she trembles, then turns her face to me. “Need you.”
Ah, hell. There she goes again with a direct plea that works on my heart and dick at the same damn time.
Quickly, I suit up, then I grab her hips, and I push against her entrance.
She gasps sharply, a high-pitched keen.
“Tits against the glass, baby,” I tell her.
She complies.
“You want all of France to see the romance writer getting fucked on a train,” I command as I ease in more.
“I do. I really do.”
I sink in, filling her completely.
She feels incredible.
She’s hungry, needy, and her sex drive matches mine.
I ease out, then back in, and soon, I’m finding just the right pace for the woman who’s been aching for me all day.
It’s such a privilege, a filthy, beautiful privilege, to be the man she craves. I don’t take it lightly. I treat it seriously, fucking her with purpose, with intent. “Want it harder? Deeper?”
“Yes. Please. Both,” she says.
I’ve learned a thing or two about Hazel over the years. She’s never let a heroine come magically. No man in her stories possesses a magical cock. The hero always makes sure he’s taking care of his woman right where she needs him.
I slide a hand to her clit, stroke her faster and faster still.
Like that, I give her the train fuck she’s craved, harder, deeper, and designed to make her come.
There’s nothing magical about my dick.
My ears and eyes deserve the credit. I’ve paid attention to her, and I’ve read both the lines and between them.
As she gasps and pants and I fuck and stroke, I take her over the cliff, with her tits pancaked against the reflection and her whole body trembling as the towns of France watch her come.
She cries out yes, yes, oh god, yes, and I’m right there with her, her sounds pulling me over the edge. I join her in bliss, wishing I could do it again tomorrow and the next day and the next.