Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Reigniting the picture of Rocky. He’s not completely naked yet, but I fast-forward to him being shirtless.
His hard, bare chest presses against me, the length of his erection digging between my legs but confined behind his slacks. I’m going to do what I dreamed of doing a thousand times, he tells me in a husky breath. His lips hovering over my ear. I’m going to fuck you, my little nightmare.
Little nightmare.
When he said that to me, it unfastened every chain around my heart. Now, it’s lighting every nerve ending in the best way.
I’m baking in arousal on the bed, and I kick down my large white comforter. I’m panting, and my fingers slip against wet heat, my clit swelling as I circle the bundle of nerves.
“Rocky,” I whisper in an aching moan. “Please.”
My legs twitch and hamstrings flex, sweat beading up on my skin. I imagine his teasing hardness, the almost-there, drawn-out tension, and dying thirst that has never, ever been fully quenched.
He pins me. He pins me so hard, I can’t escape. I chew on my bottom lip. Oh God. I don’t want to escape. I want him to always have me, and I need him. Deeper, inside . . .
“I need you,” I whisper out loud.
You have me, I imagine him saying.
“Phoebe?”
My eyes shoot open.
Oh . . . fuck.
Rocky is here.
Rocky is here?! It fully jars my brain into total alertness. I go absolutely still.
He’s standing an inch inside my room with narrowed eyes, piecing everything together. Quickly, he slips farther in and shuts the door. It’s not hard to figure out what I’m doing with my hand stuffed down my jeans and panties. Should’ve locked the door. But it’s not like I intended to masturbate.
We lock eyes, not breaking.
Not moving.
He won’t come over here and satiate me. He’s made it clear we’ll never be together, and maybe all I’ll ever have is this. My hand. My imagination.
Maybe he deserves to watch and see what he’s missing.
I return to rubbing myself, keeping my eyes fixed on Rocky.
“Phoebe,” he breathes out, a frustrated groan clinging to his throat. “Christ.”
“Tell me to stop,” I say through a ragged breath. Wetness slips between my fingers as I quicken my pace.
He watches my moving hand, and his nose flares. “I can’t.”
“Then leave,” I snap coldly, thinking he’s mad I’m pleasuring myself in front of him. “Because I’m not stopping. I’m going to come whether you’re here or not.”
He runs a stressed hand through his hair.
I knead around the sensitive bud, and my breath hitches into a short moan.
“Phoebe,” he says my name like he’s scolding me, but he’s striding over to me.
He’s coming to the bed with a scorching, powerful gait, and I’d think this was another fantasy. Another dream. But when he grabs my ankle and yanks me flat on my back, I know this is real.
Holy fuck. My lips are parted as oxygen flees, and I start to pant, “You’re just going to tease me—”
He grips the denim of my jeans and rips them down my hips. Off my legs. Watching him throw my pants to the side, I’m breathless.
The hunger in his eyes devours me. “I’m going to do so much more than just tease you,” he says in a throaty, husky breath. “And by the end, you’ll be begging me to never pull out.” He sheds his leather jacket.
Does this mean . . . ? My mouth keeps falling open. “I don’t believe you,” I say, almost in challenge.
“You’d be the first not to.” He unzips his slacks, our eyes glued to one another.
The anticipation of what he could do, what he wants to do, is a fiercer thumping need between my legs. Once his pants are gone, I fixate like a starved animal on his hard length that bears against his charcoal boxer briefs. I’ve seen his cock before. He has been very blessed. Almost too blessed.
I’ve imagined him nestled deep inside of me. But I’ve never felt him go that far.
Rocky moves the ottoman away from the foot of the bed. More in the middle of the room. What’s he doing? I prop myself on my elbows, my heart beating out of control, and I like it. I really fucking like it.
Is he actually going to do anything to me, though?
There’s just no way . . . Ohhh, God. He’s hot. After he undoes the buttons of his shirt, he grabs the fabric by the back collar and sheds it over his head.
I hate that he’s this hot. That I’m so attracted to him, I can’t help but wedge my hand back down my panties.
“Impatient?” he says, like I’m too needy.
“You’re too slow,” I taunt, and we share a flicker of a smile.
He climbs back on the bed, kneeling between my legs. Swiftly, he catches my wrist and pries my fingers out from the lacy band of my panties. And then Rocky pulls my white T-shirt over my head, my hair falling back down on my bare shoulders.