Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“What the . . .” I was a mixture of turned on, pissed off, and taken by surprise. “That was a brand-new Balmain!”
“Send me the bill.” He propped one knee between my legs on my bed, grabbed the hem of my skirt, and ripped it all the way until it fell beneath me in one perfect square. “Better yet, let’s call it even on all those dinners. I have a feeling your family won’t be able to afford unexpected expenses after the legal bill you’ll be slapped with.”
That was low, and Christian didn’t usually aim low. In fact, he’d been pretty good about not rubbing our situation in my face thus far. Which made me even more confused as to how my saying his name had changed things between us.
“What’s gotten into you?” I demanded, but I quickly forgot to press him for an answer when he leaned between my legs, plastering his strong body against mine. He kissed me roughly, deliberately rubbing his five-o’clock shadow against my skin, making it bloom pink.
He used his teeth to unbutton my white dress shirt. Not with expertise and finesse. Rather, he yanked and spit them out, one by one, as more of my skin was revealed in front of him. When he saw my crème lace bra, he covered one of my breasts with his mouth completely and sucked hard. The damp heat of his mouth sent violent shivers down my spine. My fingers threaded into his hair, tugging him southward shamelessly.
“Someone’s impatient,” he chuckled against my navel, dipping his tongue into it before breathing cold air inside. My skin prickled with goose bumps.
“You’re quite the expert, aren’t you . . .” I was going to say his name again but then stopped myself. Something told me he didn’t want to hear it, even though I had no idea why. Christian didn’t notice my sentence was incomplete.
“This is not a conversation I’d like to conduct at this moment.”
And then he was there. His teeth scraped the hem of my panties—unfortunately a pair of seamless, black, boyfriend-cut underwear—removing them urgently, his hands busy spreading my thighs wide. I didn’t know what was sexier—watching his tan, strong hands and muscular forearms against my pale skin, or looking down at his crown of jet-black hair, knowing what was to come. Or rather who was to come—me, namely.
He tossed my underwear behind his shoulder, still fully clothed.
He paused to take inventory of my naked body for the first time. Like he was studying a map, calculating where to start, where to attack first.
“God, Arya.”
He brushed his thumb from my clit to the base of my center, before dipping a long finger inside me. I closed my eyes and moaned.
“Soaked.” I heard the pop of his mouth and opened my eyes just in time to see he was tasting the finger he’d put inside me. “Tell me what you want, Arya.”
Not giving him the pleasure of hearing me beg, I sank my fingernails into his shoulders and brought him back down, his face level with my sex. He ran his tongue along my opening, and I shuddered, closing my eyes. Clearly, he wanted to have control over the situation. And clearly, he was failing.
“Fuck,” he growled, his tongue lapping at me again, deeper now. He was thirsty for it. “Here I go again.”
Here I go again? What did that mean?
His hands circled my hip bones, pressing me down to the mattress as he devoured me, stroking me with his tongue, occasionally stopping to suck my clit into his mouth, nibbling on it softly. He knew what he was doing. Normally, I’d find it commendable. Experience didn’t always equal good performance. This time, though, my heart squeezed. Like Past Christian was supposed to know Present Christian would meet me, somehow, and had to wait it out. Which was absolutely, atrociously stupid.
There was a tiny voice in the back of my mind that told me I was doing it all wrong. This was New York, and we were in our thirties. Usually, I went through a routine. I needed to see a clean medical bill. To have the Talk. To ensure he’d come with a pack of condoms. With Christian, I breezed past the technicalities like they didn’t exist.
“Condoms,” I panted, feeling my first orgasm slithering its way up my skin. From my toes, up my legs, climbing higher. “Tell me you have condoms.”
He shook his head, which was still buried between my thighs, just when my eyes dropped shut and my body began to quiver with my climax. I shook all over, and when I opened my eyes again, I saw him propped on his elbows, staring at me, absorbed in thought.
“I’m clean.”
I don’t want to get pregnant.
For a second, I imagined how that’d go. If I accidentally got pregnant with Christian’s child. What would Conrad think. Beatrice too. A panicked giggle bubbled up my throat, but I managed to swallow it down.