Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
She didn't look at him, her gaze locked-and-loaded on the floor as if waiting for the crumbs to sprout hundreds of tiny stingers and attack. He knew what was coming, tipped off by the slow deep inhale and the twitch below her eye, and he let it happen.
Her knees bent fast, her body dropping to the floor. Free from the corral of his arms, she scrambled to the mess, sweeping and scooping, her breaths rushing in her frenzy to shove tiny handfuls into the box.
With an even pulse and loose muscles, he lowered to sit beside the huffing tornado. Cereal crumbled beneath his ass and legs as he leaned his back against the cabinet. She didn't seem to notice him, too consumed with black and white, linear numbers, and clean floors...her tragic need to perfect everything.
He'd had enough. She didn't weigh more than a buck-ten soaking wet, so it didn't take much effort to drag her, chest-down, across his thighs. With his forearms braced on her back and legs, she was effectively pinned.
Furious eyes flashed over her shoulder, and her legs kicked uselessly against the floor. “Let me go,” she snarled, her fists still clutching handfuls of cereal.
Without moving the arm on her back, he yanked her shorts to her knees. Beautiful, bare, and blotched with tiny pink bruises, her ass flexed and prickled with goose bumps. The arnica gel he'd rubbed into her muscles the previous night would've reduced a lot of the swelling and stiffness. But he caressed a palm over the silky skin to make sure.
Her glutes didn't flinch, her fight still concentrated in the thrashing of her arms and legs. And what a fight, all muscle and soft skin and seductive curves writhing on his lap, her ass right there for the taking.
He was already hard—it was inevitable. He shifted her hips so that her clit lay directly over the swell of his erection through the open zipper, ensuring that every wriggle would stimulate her. And him. Then he waited for the next buck of her ass.
It rose. Fell. She gasped as her clit hit his dick. Fuck.
He swung his arm, laying into her round cheek with a solid, stinging smack. She writhed, the movement grinding her bundle of nerves against him, tormenting him. He spanked her again, over and over. Her flesh heated beneath his hand, her breathing catching and releasing, growing louder, and staggering into a chorus of moans, hers and his.
After the fifth whack of his hand, he trailed the tips of his fingers over the glowing burn. “Who am I, Amber?”
Her arms slid across the floor, the cereal evidently forgotten beneath them, as she snarled with a thick voice, “Van Quiso. Filthy spawn of the devil.”
He gave her five more fiery strokes of his palm, harder and more concentrated than the first five. Then he pinched the heated sore flesh. “Try again.”
She released a hiccupping wail, her attempt to squirm away from his grip fruitless. “Mm-m-master.”
“Good girl.” He glided a finger between her legs, slipping through her slick heat and thrusting to the knuckle. Tight, pulsating muscles gripped him, sucking him in, speeding his pulse.
Bound by his arm on her back, she could only kick her legs and accept the pleasure he allowed her. In turn, her responsive cries propelled him to a euphoric state of lust.
He added another finger and banged her cunt, twisting his wrist and massaging her G-spot as she groaned and rubbed her clit against the sensitive ridges of his cock.
Christ in heaven, the need to fuck her was a raging thing inside him, tearing him to shreds in its attempt to rip out and shove in her. But he couldn't force her.
He bit down on his lip, tasting blood, and dropped his hands to the floor.
Panting, she lifted her head, looked up into his face with heated eyes, then at his hands, back at his face. Her expression fell, and she slid off his lap. “Why?”
Why did he spank her? Or why did he stop? He grabbed her shorts, halting her attempt to pull them up. “I control this.” He gripped his dick with his free hand, squeezing hard to dull the ache, and lowered his voice. “And this.” He released his cock and gestured around them, encompassing the cereal, the covered windows, the overhead lights, and her gorgeously flushed body. “I control all of it.”
She studied him for a silent moment then slipped her legs out of the shorts in his grip and rose. His muscles stiffened to chase, but she didn't run. She backed up until her ass hit the fridge, nude from the waist down, nipples pressing against her tank top. Her heavy-lidded eyes locked with his, her jaw lowered and closed with a whispering inhale. A wordless Yes. An undeniable plea.
Climbing to his feet, he tucked himself into his jeans and pulled up the zipper. Then he stalked toward her, mirroring the tilt of her head, knees and shoulders loose, and his gaze holding her prisoner. A breath away, he paused, soaking in the subtleties of her tipped-up chin, parted lips, and glossy but resolute eyes.