Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Lifting my chin in his hand, he tips my eyes to his to maintain my gaze. “You’re allowed to come when you’re ready,” he says. With his free hand he wraps the chain tightly around his fingers and gives a little tug. For a brief second, it restricts my air like his hand on me. I gasp, but he lets the chain go.
My pussy throbs, faster, harder. I’m going to climax. The suck and whir at my clit continues with relentless pulsation, and then I’m soaring, my thighs contracting as my pussy clenches and my sex convulses. I try to scream but his grip on the chain at my neck is too much. I have to consciously work hard at not looking away from him, because my eyes want to close and ride this high.
I drop the tool, and yet my hips still convulse violently. I’m half-crying, half-moaning, as my climax rips through me like lightning, hard and fast and blinding. My voice is hoarse. It’s all I can do to maintain my position. He’s not touching me, nothing is, and yet I’m still climaxing, still contracting and writhing. It’s too much. Too intense.
“Axle,” I whisper. I’m lightheaded from the chain at my neck, whimpering. Then he’s kneeling beside me and his hand is at my pussy. I moan when he presses his fingers between my legs. I’m too sensitive. The slightest touch of his finger makes my whole lower body shudder.
“Might’ve been too much,” he says. He unsnaps the chain and coils it on the floor.
“Wh—what was that?” I ask. He soothes my rocking hips by placing one palm on my abdomen and the other on my lower back, holding me still.
“Sonic clit stim,” he says.
“That was g-good,” I tell him. My teeth are chattering. I don’t want to wimp out, but I can’t control the shivers and shudders.
“I’m glad,” he says. “Still, you may need to be eased into this. Come on. Stand, now.” I get to my feet and turn to face him. “Good,” he says. It strikes me that he’s still the same Noah he was back then, taking such careful care of me, but I have to banish the thought. “Chandra,” he says, an air of finality in his voice that makes me pay attention. “I’m calling this day off for now. You’ve had a good taste of a few things, but you’re done for now.”
I don’t argue. I know by the look he’s giving me now that he’s made up his mind. There’s no use trying to talk him into something once he has and part of me knows he’s right. I am done. Still, I’m disappointed when he leads me back to the bed. My legs shake, my hands tremble.
“Damn, I didn’t know it would hit you that hard.”
“I’m a d-delicate flower,” I stammer, trying to make light of the situation but I’m shivering violently, and I can’t make it stop.
“Baby,” he says, and the soft tone of his voice makes tears sting my eyes. I can’t handle this intensity. I need to get away. Sitting on the edge of bed, he draws me onto his lap. “Delicate flower,” he repeats. “I don’t think so.”
“I a-am.”
“You’re a goddamn cactus.”
That makes me giggle. We sit in silence for a while. I listen to the sound of his heart beating and try to get my mind to rest, to stop racing, but it’s not an easy task. I inhale his strong, masculine scent and letting my fingers rest on his chest, letting myself wish that this was real and not make believe. My hips still quiver a little, and I want it to stop, but I can’t control the tremors that still shudder through me. Placing his hand on my lower back, he pulls my torso against his.
I like the feel of his hand on me so much more than the things he’s used.
Several minutes pass while he just holds me and helps me adjust to coming down. “Well, that was all noted for the next book,” I mutter. “You do have a devious mind sometimes, don’t you?”
“Not sometimes. All the time. You better now?”
“I think so.”
“Okay, then let’s get you dressed and home.”
My stomach drops. “Maybe I’m not better,” I amend. “Maybe my stomach hurts a little.”
He reaches for my chin and lifts my gaze up. “I want the truth, Chandra.”
He can’t have the truth. Not now. I can’t bring myself to say all the things I want to. But it turns out I don’t have to.
“Give me a mask,” I whisper, the first words of an Oscar Wilde quote that’s come to me out of nowhere.
“And I’ll tell you the truth,” he finishes. He shakes his head at me. “You won’t quote yourself out of this one. There are no masks. Now tell me.”