Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
“Why bumfuzzle?”
“Because one would never be tempted to use it as part of dirty talk.” He frowned. “Though with you, I’m not so sure.”
A nervous laughter escaped me, and I bit my lower lip. “I forgot you said only food goes on your butcher block.”
“No, you didn’t.” He leaned forward. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for a kiss, but the kiss never came. Instead, a sharp snapping sound filled my ears. My eyelids ripped open and I realized… What the fuck?
He had pinned one side of my dress to the butcher block by sticking a knife into it. I repeat: He had tacked me to his butcher block with a chef’s knife. “This is not the way I expected to be nailed,” I piped up.
I was aflame, burning with sweet ache and decadent desire. But also…was this going to turn into one of the cases I listened to on Morbid and My Favorite Murder?
No. He wouldn’t.
…would he?
If so, I was a willing victim. Dying in his hands was a lovely way to die.
“Trust me.” His eyes held mine, and I had a feeling this was an exercise in letting go. A trust fall of sorts. He wanted to bring me to the edge and show me that I was safe with him, no matter what.
“I trust you.” My voice was steady, leveled. Row grabbed another knife—just as big and scary—and pinned the other side of my dress to the block. I was now essentially glued to this board, completely at his mercy.
My mouth hung open. His eyes were hooded, clouded with desire and determination. He grabbed a third butcher’s knife from the neighboring station without moving an inch from his spot between my thighs and used the tip to tilt my chin up. Adrenaline zipped through my veins, making my entire being sore.
“I said only food goes on here,” he growled, baring his teeth. Yet somehow, I wasn’t scared. “So now, Dot, I have no choice but to eat you alive. Now, how does that sound?”
The pressure between my legs became almost impossible. My panties were soaked, my heat dripping a thin river down my thigh. He was pushing all my limits, pressing all my buttons, and showing me that I wasn’t scared. That I knew how to trust. Him. Myself.
“S-sign me up,” I said breathlessly.
“Do you like fluorescent lights, Dot?” He slid the tip of the butcher knife from my chin, down my neck, and toward the top of my dress. An excited tremor moved through me, my skin exploding with goose bumps. I hadn’t even known I liked knife play. Wait, was this knife play? The blade barely touched me. There was a lot of googling to be done when I got home.
“Big fan. Huge.”
“Good, baby.” With one swift motion, he tore the front of my dress with his knife, revealing my embarrassing gray Calvin Klein sports bra and my strained nipples behind it. “Because you’re about to be looking at them for some time.”
He dumped the knife on the board, flattened a hand over my rib cage, and pushed me down to lie firmly on the surface. I was pretty sure the majority of my blood flow ran straight to my clit, making me lightheaded. Fisting my panties (also gray Calvin Kleins), Row slid them down my legs and discarded them on the floor.
I couldn’t believe we were doing this in his kingdom. In his kitchen. He grabbed my left ankle and pressed my thigh down with his strong, capable hands, looping the back of my knee around the knife holding my dress. Then he did the same thing with my right leg, so I was spread eagle, awkwardly open wide right in front of him.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve fantasized about fucking you like this?” He trailed his rough knuckles along the soft flesh of my dripping slit leisurely, taking a long, unhurried look at my cunt. My inhibitions popped like buttons after Thanksgiving dinner. Pluck, pluck, pluck. He used the tip of his finger to stroke the seam of my pussy back and forth, teasing me lazily, his hand quivering to stop himself from ravenously devouring me. My inner thighs were wet and sticky with my need for him, and I bucked my hips forward, begging for more of his touch.
“A lot?” I purred, barely capable of producing words. What were thoughts anyway? I had no recollection of having formed any.
He lowered his head between my legs, pressing his entire mouth onto me and sucking my pussy whole. The pleasure was so sharp and maddening, I arched like a crescent moon and whimpered ferally at the foreign sensation.
“The answer is every single minute of every single day, of every single month, of every single year of my fucking life since you turned seventeen,” he growled, his hot tongue swirling and teasing, licking and penetrating.