Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 144042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 720(@200wpm)___ 576(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 720(@200wpm)___ 576(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
“I can’t wait,” he says. Explanation or statement, I don’t know. His hand slides over my belly, under my panties. My thighs part to give him room. He finds my clit with unerring precision. The calloused tip of his talented finger gently circles that slick swell, and I go weak at the knees. My forehead rests on his shoulder as I whimper.
His finger slides down just a little to caress my opening. “I want in here so badly, Stells.” He doesn’t push in, but simply strokes, a light torture that has me rocking my hips in desperation.
“John …” I want it to be a demand, but it comes out a thready plea.
The elevator stops with a thud. John’s hand leaves me, and I’m all too aware of how wet I am, cold now without his touch. He tugs me into the hall, all jerky movements and uncoordinated steps. John punches in the code to his door like he’s trying to break through the panel. It clicks, and then we’re practically falling into the cool quiet of his front hall.
There is no more talking, no more waiting. We’re kissing each other, and it isn’t demanding or frantic; it’s consuming, a fall right into the deep end of the ocean. John comes after my mouth like it’s his right, his pleasure. I’ve never been kissed this way. I am the banquet and he is the hunger.
I know we’re moving—kissing, soaking each other in, clothes quietly coming off and left where they lie—but my senses are solely on him, the feel of his lips, the tart taste of his tongue. He is soft skin and hard muscle, his grip firm as he guides me along, claiming my mouth, drawing me into his room.
It’s a dark cave—black walls, heavy drapes, the only light coming in through the massive grid windows at the far wall. He pulls me right into that light. The heat of it on my skin is almost too much.
I’m burning now, inside and out, incandescent with lust for this man standing before me. This beautiful man. He’s built in perfect proportions: wide shoulders, strong arms, hard abs. Unbuttoned jeans hang low on his trim hips, revealing the edge of his boxers and a wispy trail of dark hair.
Never in my life have I wanted someone this way. I want to do things to him, bite the tawny nubs of his nipples, suck the sensitive skin on his neck. But I’m rendered immobile by his gaze, absorbed and intense, tender and covetous.
With the backs of his fingers, he traces a path along my spine. When he hits the clasp of my bra, he pauses. “I want to see you.”
See me, he does. I’m utterly exposed, standing in my bra and panties, the rest of my clothes lost somewhere along the way. I’m not embarrassed; I want to be naked with him. Naked and sweaty. But I know what he’s used to, and I’m not made that way.
“It’s nothing special,” I whisper. I’m just me, a girl like any other.
Under lowered lids, he looks at me, his expression solemn. “You’re extraordinary.”
In that moment, I’d believe anything from him. I lean into his touch, where he’s toying with the hooks of my bra. Please. Please. Just take it off me. I’d tell him, but my voice has fled. He understands the gesture. The bra goes slack, sliding away. Blissful freedom.
“There you are,” he says, like he’s been missing me. One big, warm hand cups my aching breast. His lips press into the sensitive crook of my neck, and he inhales deeply.
“I had plans,” he says, kissing his way down my chest. Soft pecks, suckling explorations. “I’d get you home, get you wet, then fuck you.” More slow kisses, mapping my freckles, lowering himself to his knees. “Fuck away all this desperation, hard and fast.”
Lust washes over me, and I sway into him. He grips my waist, steadying me.
“So many plans.” The kiss on the tip of my nipple is so light, I chase his mouth for more, moaning when he complies and suckles. “You’re destroying all my plans,” he murmurs against my skin, tongue flicking.
My hand smooths over his thick hair. “Sorry.”
But I’m not and he knows it. His laugh is warm over my damp nipple. “Liar.”
“The worst,” I agree, my voice weak. I want to touch him everywhere, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the taut sweep of his back. In the sunlight, his skin is warm gold, fine and smooth. But he’s moving lower, out of my reach.
“Now, all I want to do is take my time, savor this.” Big hands frame my hips, his lips skimming along the slope of my belly. With deliberate care, he grasps the edge of my panties and slides them down. They pool at my feet, and I’m bare to him. John just stares, and then sighs contently. “Red.”