Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
And then he starts dotting kisses across my chest, slow, soft presses of his lips against my skin, over and over. “I want you to stop smoking,” he says, taking a small break before going back to worshipping my flesh.
“Maybe,” I whisper, sliding my hands into his hair.
He pulls his face from my skin and cocks a brow. “The answer is, yes, Brad.”
I nibble my lip, restraining my smile. “Yes, Brad.”
“Oh, how you please me. How sore are you?”
“Very.”
“Me too.”
It’s me cocking a brow now. He’s used to all-night sessions. Usually in hotel rooms. I wince at the thought. I need to forget that. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” he murmurs, taking a lock of my hair and rubbing it between his fingers. “Because you’re so tight.”
I press my lips together when he peeks up at me, his mischievous smirk adorable. He slides down and starts nipping at my nipples, and the pleasure shoots straight down to between my thighs. I breathe in some restraint.
“I want to keep you this tight, but I also want to break you in over and over.”
“What a conundrum you face.”
“Isn’t it?” He keeps his eyes on me as he sucks my boob into his mouth, watching me come undone. “What should a man do?” He sits up and grabs a condom off the nightstand, ripping it open and sliding it on while I watch. Planting his fists either side of my head, his eyes dart across my face. “Well?”
“I don’t know.”
He swivels his hips and plunges deep, and I suck back air, my nails automatically clinging to him. “Seems I want my cake, and I want to eat it.” He pumps, his face a sweaty, tense, beautiful mess.
“Then have it and eat it,” I say quietly, my overworked internal muscles flexing.
I’ve never seen Brad Black smile.
Not properly.
Until now.
And, my God, it’s magical.
He rolls his hips, driving deeply, and I whimper my pleasure, unable to take my eyes off him, hypnotized by him. By this. By us.
My body feels trained, and I’m so grateful it’s him who’s trained it. I flex my torso up into his chest, and he rises, bracing his arms, grinding. It’s coming again, that incredible surge of energy that wipes me out but brings me to life. His brow glistens, beads of sweat rolling down his temples. I hold my breath, and I’m ambushed from every angle, hijacked by the pleasure, the pressure bursting out of me on a burst of air.
“Fuck,” he gasps, falling to one elbow, his head hanging, his body beginning to shake. “Fuck . . . fuck . . . fuck.”
I let my arms fall to above my head, trying to catch my breath while I let him find his. Our breathing is noisy. Our skin wet. I feel overcome once again.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” I say without thought, silently cursing my runaway mouth.
Brad stills, and I cringe further, turning my face into my arm, hiding. I eventually feel him move.
“Look at me.”
“I don’t know if I want to,” I say.
“You do, Pearl. So look at me.”
I turn my face out, and he spends a few precious moments, his eyes tender, studying me.
“I am the only man in this world who ever has and ever will touch you.” He brushes my hair from my cheeks with both palms, holding my face.
I swallow. “Ever again?”
“Ever.”
I bite my lip.
“Don’t do that, Pearl.”
I’m doing it to stop my smile. “Why, Brad? Why shouldn’t I bite my lip?”
“Because this happens.” He thrusts his hardening dick into me, and my eyes widen.
“But you just—”
“Had you, I know.” He starts moving again, circling deeply. Insatiable. Both of us, and I’m lying beneath him wondering . . . why me? This capable, powerful, virile man. Why me?
It’s a question for another time, because when he’s inside me, my brain is mush. My body a slave to the need. My mind not my own. My muscles start to harden, dulling the ache momentarily while the pressure builds again, and I look up at him in wonder as he stares down at me. He drives in, circles deeply, withdraws slowly, over and over, the flesh between my legs throbbing and heavy. His jaw becomes tight, his eyes dropping to his arm where I’m clinging to him. “Down a bit, gorgeous,” he hisses, growling when I move my grip away from his bandage.
I lift my hips, murmuring some inaudible words, clenching and releasing both with my inside muscles and my hands on his arms. He closes his eyes briefly and jerks, and that one sharp move puts pressure where I need it, and I burst beneath him again, drawing him into me.
And he goes too, his head becoming limp again, his dick expanding inside me, his groan deep. “Shit,” he gasps, collapsing on top of me, panting, our chests pumping. My throat’s sore. My muscles are screaming. Between my thighs feels deliciously raw. I close my heavy eyes and sink into the mattress, arms splayed above my head. I wince when Brad slips out, closing my legs, and he falls onto his back on a huff, one of his long, muscled legs bending at the knee, his palm on his broad, pumping chest. He’s drifting off.