Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“So good.” Trembling, clenching, she’s already primed, ready to come again. “Oh, God, Leo.”
I wrap a hand around her throat, gripping, groaning, fucking into her with deliberately drawn-out motions.
My lips on her jaw, our bodies tangled and rocking, her hand reaching back to claw at my ass—this is us. Fire and ice. Raw and organic. Our love grows from the earth, rooting in the dead of winter and awakening like seeds in the thaw.
She cries out, her release spilling over me, soaking my cock, and trickling over my balls. Her thighs quiver as I slide my hand from her throat to her pussy, cupping where we’re joined. I ease my fingers into her and stretch them alongside my length, rubbing her inner walls, rubbing myself, making her tight channel all the more tight.
I pulse within her as her cunt contracts, our rhythm timed with the gallop of our hearts. There’s nothing sexier.
“Yes!” She moves her hips, shuddering against me, riding the double penetration of my fingers and cock.
“More.” I know I should stop, should let her sleep, but I can’t get enough.
She gives it to me, climaxing again, hard and fast.
Dipping my head to her neck, I exhale hot breath against her shivering skin. Still moving inside her, languorously, dreamily. Gently making love long into the night. Falling in and out of sleep with my cock buried deep and her tits in my hands.
I lose count of how many times I fill her with my seed. It leaks from her, from where we’re still connected, making me feel dizzy and fuzzy and heavy with pleasure. Like only she can.
Moaning through a languid orgasm, she finally passes out in my arms. My dick is sore and softening, but I want to stay. Withdrawing from her is out of the question.
With our hips tucked tightly together, I bury my face in her neck, and sleep the best sleep of my life, in a cave, in a blizzard, inside my whole world.
The harsh wind cuts through my coat as I stand at the railing, staring out at the Gulf of Alaska. The waves crash against the hull of my yacht, a token of my wealth and power, yet utterly useless in finding the only thing that matters.
My missing wife.
It’s been 143 agonizing days since she quit me, leaving behind a void in my heart that grows deeper with each passing moment.
I should move on.
God knows I’ve tried.
But no one compares to her. There isn’t a woman alive who can rival Frankie’s natural beauty, ball-busting ferocity, and faithful devotion to those she loves. Not even close.
I should be at the office, running my global empire, but instead, I spend every waking hour on my yacht, which serves as a mobile command center in my obsessive search for her.
As it glides through the braying waters of the Gulf, I pore over marked-up maps with locations yet to be explored. Every island, every inlet, every remote corner of the Pacific Northwest is meticulously scrutinized, my team of experts working tirelessly to unravel the mystery of her disappearance.
My hunt isn’t limited to the physical landscape. I’m also combing through the depths of my memories, searching for any overlooked detail or forgotten conversation that might shed light on her whereabouts. Every argument, whispered confession, and moment of tenderness shared between us is dissected and analyzed as I strive to understand where she went.
Despite her justification for not wanting to be found, I should’ve located her by now. How has she evaded the resources I put into this five-month-long pursuit?
It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. If she simply ran, she would’ve left a trail, a clue, something.
Yet she vanished without a trace.
I’m not even thinking about how I will win her back. At this point, I just need some fucking proof of life.
I’ve enlisted the help of every contact, government agency, and connection I possess.
Private bush planes scour the Interior from Whittier to Utqiagvik. The Coast Guard District 17 sweeps forty-seven-thousand miles of shoreline throughout Alaska and the Arctic. The ABI is working diligently with all police agencies, maintaining an intrastate network of communication about her whereabouts.
My team of private investigators cast a countrywide net, utilizing facial recognition and public security cameras, leaving no stone unturned.
Somehow, she’s eluded thousands of resources.
Wilson, head of my private investigative team, checks in daily. His team leader, Sirena, remains at my side to manage the local operation.
Every day, it’s the same. No sightings, no clues, nothing to indicate where Frankie might have gone or what could have happened to her. It’s as if she vaporized into the mist, leaving me to wonder if she ever truly existed at all.
The night she left, the security system in our mansion didn’t detect breaches. No alarms sounded, and the motion detectors outside failed to register movement. She cut the power to them after our employees left for the day.