Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Warm, wet pulsations not only keep Wes’s cock imprisoned just like he requests, they coerce it into thickening.
Tearing the taut area into two.
Stretching the slick muscles to the point I can’t so much as take in a breath without feeling him and only him.
Burning sensations build in my bending legs and clenching thighs and lengthening throat, however I push through them.
Moan past the pain from having metal jammed into my flesh and pant around the increasing rawness of my vocal cords.
“You want my cum, Little Prey?” Wes growls against my swollen lips, thick streaks of sweat slowly sliding down his jaw. “Is that what you really wanted on this date?”
“Yes,” airily leaves me, squeaks from the shocks we’re wearing out, echoing my answer.
“Tell me what I wanna hear, Bryn.” The use of my name warrants my sexual haze filled gaze finds his. “Tell me what I always wanna fucking hear.” His pounding doesn’t decrease in pressure or speed but fumbles in precision. “Tell me what I always fucking need to hear.” Additional uneven pumps have me melting. And trembling. “Tell me the only thing that matters for me to fucking hear.” He suddenly cups my cheek with the hand that was just on my ass and uses his thumb to strum my bottom lip. “Tell me the one thing that makes my life fucking complete, baby.”
“Yours,” escapes on a hitched breath, the only precursor to my pending orgasm. “I’m. All. Yours. Wes.”
“All.” He savagely heaves, thumb hooking itself on my teeth. “Fucking.” This jerk curls me tightly against him, pussy now uncontrollably thrumming, determined to take from him what he’s taking from me. “Mine.”
Sweltering splashes suddenly splatter against my quivering muscles successfully causing another round of screeching to skate across my tongue. The love of my life watches for only a split second before deciding he’d rather taste the window shattering screams than hear them.
Together, we whimper and whine and groan and moan and rock to the faint jazz music and even fainter sounds of the ocean, refusing to separate even a centimeter.
Because we don’t just belong together.
We are together.
Now.
Always.
Forever.
Chapter 12
Brynley
Do I like being in charge of my own department?
Yes.
Do I like having my own office?
Fuck yes.
Do I like the amount of paperwork I have to read every day in comparison to the none I read when I was a bartender?
No.
But I guess you can’t win ‘em all.
Swiping away another conservation project proposal occurs on a small sneer and shake of the head.
Why is it so difficult to understand that a good idea and a profitable idea are not necessarily one in the same?
And an even better question is why can’t my current, lead rescue team come to an agreement on one that benefits both marine life as well as the institute?
Am I really asking too much?
Hell, am I currently doing too much?
Not enough?
I’ve been back in this seat for a little over a week and have no clue if I’m drowning on the ocean floor or just an expert deep diver.
How the fuck did I ever learn to balance the whole having a marriage, a kid, and a career thing?!
Were caffeine injections involved?
I feel like they might’ve been involved.
There’s no way I was crushing it like I appear to be in all those photos without outside help.
Maybe it was Pop-Tarts?
I do love a good Pop-Tart.
Light knocks on the door precedes it cracking open and my assistant, Mercedez Mixon, wedging her fair skinned face into the created space. “Boss, your next appointment is here.”
I casually lean back in my orange leather office chair at the time same I declare, “I don’t like to be called boss.”
“Right,” the stringy blond giggles. “I keep forgetting that! Gale-”
“I’m not Gale.”
“-your replacement-”
“Temporarily.”
“-insisted on everyone calling her that.” Mercedez pulls her tiny red painted lips to one side of her face. “She was totally so woat.”
“What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is. Woat?”
“Worst of all time,” giggles the young woman I wonder what the old me was thinking when she hired her. “Obvs.”
“Obvs,” leaves me on a mocking smile. “Could you go ahead and send in my two o’clock?”
“Toats!”
Her quick disappearance provides me with a brief moment alone to roll my eyes and tug down my top to cover more of the territory my light blue blazer would if it were on.
That’s one of the many, many perks of having my own office.
I don’t have to be buttoned up if I don’t feel like it.
Especially post having two rounds of honey whipped goat cheese with marinated olives.
Puppet Boy was right.
We definitely should’ve only had the one.
“You know I weirdly miss doing crumb checks with you, dude,” an oddly familiar voice greets, darting my gaze up to a face I’ve only seen in photos since the incident. “Not breath checks, though. It never failed. That shit always smelled like an oyster dumpster fire in the middle of the hottest day of summer.”