Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Him, Katie, and the baby in my belly.
Tuck rolls his tongue over my nipple. My pussy lights up, need gathering in an urgent throb I feel everywhere.
I run my fingers through his hair and watch him love my body. Because that’s what it feels like when he shapes my waist with his hands and slowly sucks my nipple into his mouth. Maybe I’m projecting. But there’s a tenderness, a worshipfulness, to the way he’s touching me.
He arcs his thumbs over my stomach. They dip inside the waistband of my jeans and toy with my underwear.
Moving to the other nipple, he unbuttons my jeans and together with my panties pushes them down. I toe out of my boots and do a little wiggle to get everything to fall the rest of the way off.
Then I’m naked. Tuck’s mouth on my breast, my fingers in his hair.
My heart in his hands.
I put my hands on his face and draw his mouth up to mine. His hand roves over the slope of my hips, then dips lower. His fingers find my pubic hair, and I feel him parting me there as I kiss him.
“I know you’ve been feeling off lately.” He pulls back to look at me. “If you’re not up for it, I understand. But can I taste you here? Please?” He slides his middle finger into my slit.
Breathless, I nod.
“There’s my good girl,” he murmurs, drawing my mouth up for one last kiss. “Lemme make you feel better.”
I’ve been so lost in Tuck’s taste, his touch, that I completely forgot we’re still in the kitchen. The fact only registers when he lifts me onto the countertop. The marble is cool on my backside, a shocking counterpoint to the heat that roils in my core when Tuck gets on his knees and hooks my leg over his shoulder.
The man eats pussy like he means it. He swipes his tongue down the length of me, front to back, a thorough, almost vicious caress that has me falling back on my hands. I bite back a cry when he licks my clit before sliding lower, his tongue curling into my entrance while his lips move over my slick flesh. He moves confidently, taking his time. Taking my clit between his teeth.
I see stars.
I rock my hips against his mouth, the pressure mounting inside me.
“I don’t”—I gasp when his hand finds my breast—“please don’t make me come before you’re inside me.”
His green eyes seem to glow when they meet mine. “You askin’ me to take you to the edge?”
I nod. “But no further. Please.”
That’s exactly what he does. He savors me, bringing me closer and closer with every flick of his tongue. It’s heaven and hell being drawn in this way, drawn tight.
It’s when the hand on my breast moves to my pussy that I really lose it. I watch him pull back a little so he can gather my moisture on his fingertips. Then he reaches back up and smears it over one nipple, then the other, the scent of my arousal blooming between us.
I feel my orgasm bearing down on me. The weight of it, the pressure, it’s too much, and my hips surge forward, seeking one last touch to tip me over.
Tuck, though, reads me like a book. He draws back and climbs to his feet.
“But I’m dying,” I pant.
His gaze is locked on mine as he unbuckles his belt. “I know.”
“Help. Please.”
His erection tents his trousers. His lips and eyes glimmer. He’s half naked, his bare chest covered in untamed tufts of furry hair.
He is every inch the Viking in this moment.
“I always take care of you.” His fly makes a ripping noise as Tuck unzips it. “Tell me how ready you are for me.”
“All day. I’ve been ready all day, Tuck.”
He reaches inside his briefs and releases himself. Like the rest of him, his dick is beautiful. A single, pulsing vein runs up the side. His head is pink velvet, topped by a pearl of precum.
He swipes at it with this thumb. “How the trouble began.”
“Are you sorry?”
“Sorry you got pregnant?”
“Sorry any of this happened.”
He searches my face for a long beat before bringing his thumb to my mouth. “Open.”
I do as he tells me and suck on the pad of his thumb. His salty taste causes a rush of saliva to my mouth.
Then he’s leaning down, neck slanting at an angle that makes my stomach hurt with want, and he kisses me. My taste mingles with his as our mouths move.
“There is nothing,” he whispers, “more delicious than you. I’m not sorry, Tiny.” He lines himself up at my entrance. “I’m not sorry we danced.” He pushes inside. “I’m not sorry we slept together.” There’s a sharp stretch as he pushes farther and brushes his nose against mine. “I’m not sorry we made a baby. I don’t regret a damn thing.”