Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“Fuck, you feel good on top of me.”
“Not as good as you feel under me.” I rock my hips back and forth. He’s so long and so thick. He thrusts up, and my eyes nearly cross. I’m so close I can taste my orgasm. Suddenly, he stops, tossing me off him.
“What the fuck? You’re not seriously stopping again—”
“Not having you come that way, babe.” Working his way down my belly, he spreads my legs and pulls my panties to the side. I gasp as he drags his tongue over my opening and snakes it into my pussy before sucking my clit into his mouth. He flicks the tip of his tongue over my clit and slides one thick, glorious finger inside me.
“Fu-u-u-ck,” I moan, falling back onto my pillow. Tate eats my pussy like a starved man, devouring me, sparking my nerve-endings to life. Without mercy, I tug my fingers into his hair and ride his mouth. My mouth falls open in pleasure as white spots blaze behind my eyelids, and I moan out his name. I’m nowhere near close to coming down from my orgasm when he pulls away. Within seconds, he’s as naked as the day he was born and climbing back between my legs.
His steely gaze captures mine. Before I can demand he do something, he powers forward, filling me almost to the point of pain. That doesn’t stop me from wrapping my legs around him and lifting my ass to grant him better access.
“Fuck, babe,” he growls and pulls out, only to thrust back with more force. His fingers dig into my hips, and he holds me in place as he takes and takes. The sound of sex fills the air. The slap of our bodies connecting, moans, whimpers. One hand releases my hip and travels up my ribcage to cup my breast. He rolls my nipple between his fingers, then pinches, and I cry out in pure bliss. He grabs my jaw, his fingers biting into my skin and silences me, kissing me with frenzied passion. I rock my hips to meet his as he sinks deep fucking me with purpose. My orgasm builds until I can barely see straight.
“That’s it. Fuckin’ let go for me.” Both hands are on my legs, and he brings them up, spreading me, penetrating so deep it becomes too much. Too good. “Fuck!” I cry out as a second orgasm follows. Tate hammers into me, my legs high in the sky, and I short-circuit. He works hard and deep, a feral grunt echoing around the room until he finally succumbs to his own orgasm.
I can’t breathe. Or feel my legs. And I think I’ve died. Tate’s body falls over mine, his heart pounding. “Is that your heart or mine?”
“Fuck,” he pants. “I think both.” His lips skate up my neck. He lifts himself onto his elbows and looks down at me. “What the fuck was that?” he asks, just as confused as I am. I want to reply with the hottest sex I’ve ever had. Three never-heard-of, mind-blowing orgasms. A connection I’ve never felt before. Instead, I say, “Gross.”
His palm smacks against my butt cheek, and I yelp. “Watch it,” he murmurs, his low tone reviving my libido. Banging sounds on the front door, and Tate freezes. A second later, he’s off of me, sliding his clothes on. “Stay here.”
“It’s my door, I—”
“Stay the fuck here.” And then he’s gone.
I’m not sure he’s figured it out, but I don’t like being told what to do. So, I climb out of bed, dress, and follow him. He’s on the phone, his jaw tight. “Who was it?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer.
“I need a squad car immediately.” He rambles off my address.
“Tate, who was it?” I cross my arms over my chest as I frown.
“Not sure. I can’t leave my client.”
“Who was it?” I ask again. When I realize he’s not going to answer me, I throw my hands up in frustration and step toward my door. Tate tries to stop me, but I brush his arm away and open my door. My breath hitches, and I jerk backward. A large bouquet of red roses sits in front of my door. “How… who put these here?” My hands tremble as I bend down to grab the card attached, but Tate stops me.
“Don’t touch it.”
“Let me go.” I try to wrestle out of his hold. “We need to see what it says.”
“Fingerprints. Let the police handle that.”
“Oh, like they’ve been handling everything else? Fuck that.” I squirm, and his grip around my waist tightens. “Let me fucking go! How does he know where I live?” Panic begins to suffocate me, and I thrash in his arms. “Let me go…” My anger is quickly replaced with fear. Tremors seize my body. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back tears.