Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I’m also frustrated, annoyed, and yet again trapped —cuffed to the fucking bed.
But there’s something empowering about having that effect on Smoke. Something satisfying about making him feel even a small dose of how he made me feel when he brought that girl here.
I scream out my frustrations into an empty house, kicking my feet against the mattress. I pull at the cuffs as if they will somehow magically release me.
They don’t.
I’m wound up so tight I could burst. Maybe, I should show Smoke the drive when he comes back. Maybe, it will mean something to him, enough to set me free.
I remember the deep V in Smoke’s forehead.
Or maybe, it will be my final undoing.
I try to calm my erratic heart and racing mind, but as I lay in the quiet room I find myself something beyond restless.
I stare at the ceiling, unmoving, heart beating wildly.
The empowerment over being able to make Smoke jealous turns into another kind of feeling that starts as a tingle between my thighs, growing and morphing into something more powerful until I’m pressing my thighs together to calm the growing ache.
I tell myself it’s the romance novels that’s ignited this need within me to feel more.
To feel something.
But I know, even as it’s happening, that it’s a lie.
With my one free hand, I try to untie the bathing suit top from around my back, but I can’t reach. I pull up the top instead, freeing my breasts.
I’ve touched myself before but have never found it to be all that satisfying. Most of the time I can’t bring myself to climax. But I needed to calm the storm in both my mind and body. Being tied to the bed limited my options.
I push off my bikini bottoms.
I close my eyes and rest my head against the pillow. My feet are flat on the mattress. Knees up. I squeeze my nipple, then run my flat palm lightly over the pebbled peak. A shot of desire pools in my lower stomach.
I bite my lower lip and move my hand to the other nipple. It feels better than I remember, although it’s been a while. I pinch it lightly and my mouth drops open in a silent gasp.
I might even be able to come just from this. I’m wet, my thighs slippery. I move my hand down my body. I imagine that it’s someone else’s hand touching me.
Wanting me.
The first face that pops into my mind is Smoke’s hoovering above me. I shake my head and decide on Duke instead. I remember his kisses. His good looks. It’s working until my fingertips reach my clit, then the image switches from blonde curls and goofy grins to dark eyes and rough hands. Tattoos and frown lines. Handcuffs and scars. Lips that were made for sin. A perfect body with a corrupt mind.
I remember the way it felt to be on his lap. The way he used my hips to rub me against his hard shaft through his jeans. I circle my clit with my fingers, using my own wetness to glide over and over it again and again. I lift my hips off the bed and imagine that it went further. That the phone or Zelda hadn’t stopped us. I imagine the sound his jeans make hitting the floor. That he flipped me over with my back against the couch and sucked on my nipples while his fingers found my wet, aching folds.
I come before my imagination has a chance to get any further. It’s hard. So hard. Shattering me and putting me back together with pleasure and pain and frustration. It’s so wrong, but I don’t care. I just care about this feeling running through me like a wild rapid-filled river. I’m screaming out into the otherwise quiet house. It’s a wild cry, desperate, loud and unforgiving. I’ve never experienced an orgasm this strong before. This unpredictable.
My hand is still between my spread legs, my finger lazily flicking over my clit as I ride out the waves of pleasure. I shiver from the sensation of my hard nipples against the breeze coming through the window.
I’m coming down, my mouth still open in ecstasy, my fingers dipping inside me briefly to again trace lazy circles over my swollen clit with my own juices.
Smoke’s name is still echoing through the house and through my ears. I roll my head to the side and open my eyes.
I freeze. My movements. My breathing. My thoughts.
Because, there, standing in the doorway, is Smoke.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I’d taken off after seeing Nine put his mouth on Frankie. I was pissed. She was mine. Not his. My job. My problem. My everything. I was pissed at myself for being so fucking pissed. It’s a good thing Nine had parked in the other direction because I wanted to tear his arms off with my bare hands and beat him to death with his own useless limbs, and if he would have come close enough I probably would’ve.