Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
She moans, threading her fingers through my hair and urging me to kiss her harder. Move my tongue deeper.
I move my other hand to her face and hold her with both hands. Her mouth is hot and wet. It sends a shot of energy straight to my cock. I bite her bottom lip just sharp enough to make her gasp.
Damn.
I pull back as her eyes fly open. She pants, flushed, as she tries to gather herself.
But I don’t give her time.
I slip her panties out of my pocket and walk to the bar. “Come here.”
She joins me as I move the barstools out of the way. Then I turn to her and lift her by the waist, setting her on the bar.
“Give me your hands.”
14
PIPPA
I’ve played it pretty freaking cool, I think—since we got back to Jess’s house, at least.
It helps that he makes me so comfortable. It’s impossible not to be confident when a man like him fawns all over you in the most authentic, genuine way. But it’s also impossible not to want to lose your mind when he delays your gratification. I’m currently sporting the female version of blue balls.
My thighs are stuck to the cool white stone countertop, and I know there will be a spot from my ass when I get up—but I can’t worry about that right now.
I have more important, hotter matters to contend with.
“Here you go,” I say, dangling them in front of him.
I wonder if he can hear my heart pounding. Does he see the flurry of goose bumps breaking out across my skin as he takes my hands in his? He gives them a gentle tug, scooting me forward.
His chest is a work of art; his shoulders are crafted by the hands of angels that woke up feeling like doing a favor to women on Earth.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
He brings my palms together. Then he wraps my underwear around them, cinching my wrists together a little tighter than necessary, and quickly fashions a knot.
“You better hope I didn’t like those,” I say.
“You aren’t getting them back anyway. Now lie down.”
I’m not? “Can I have another kiss first?”
“Nope.”
He helps me swing my legs onto the counter and then reclines me until my back is flat against the stone.
“Arms over your head,” he says, taking my bound hands and dragging them where he wants them. Until I’m stretched out and displayed just for him.
Oh fuck.
My breath shakes, coming out in raspy waves.
The countertop is hard and cold beneath me—and I am totally exposed.
I gulp, squirming to find a more comfortable—less vulnerable—position. But as I start to move, Jess puts a hand on my belly.
“Stop moving,” he says.
I begin to draw my arms down, but he snatches my hands up and moves them back to their original position.
He smirks. “Remember how helpful you were at dinner?”
No …
He trails a finger around my stomach, feathering the pad along the ridge of my sex. I shiver at the contact. I lift my hips to encourage more contact, but he grips my leg suspiciously close to my opening and holds me still.
“I’m going to explore every piece of your body,” he says slowly, stroking my leg to my calf and back up the inside of my thigh.
“You should try between my legs. It’s been a long time since it was explored.”
He grins. “I’ll get there.”
“You should hurry.”
“Nah, I think I’ll take my time. You seem to like it when I do that.”
“It makes me hate you, actually.”
He chuckles. “Okay. Whatever you say. Pretty sure you’re not in charge here.”
He works his way up my hips, stopping to appreciate the curve before making his way to my chest.
His hands cup my breasts, weighing them in his palms. His thumbs roll across the pebbled nipples—and that’s what does it. It breaks the calm I’ve been able to maintain so far.
I moan, earning a smile from him.
“Oh, did I find your switch?” he asks, rolling them between his fingers. “Is this what you like?”
“Yes. Fuck. Ah.” I lift my hips off the table again, squeezing my eyes shut. “You win.”
“I always win. Remember that.”
I suck in a breath as his mouth replaces his fingers on my nipple. He flicks it with his tongue and massages my other breast with his hand. Each lick and nibble against the sensitive bead are like a bolt of electricity.
My knees fall to the side, back arching, head digging against the countertop so hard that it makes me yelp.
There are too many feelings washing over me—my clit throbbing so intently, screaming for attention—that I can barely concentrate.
He kisses across my chest and up the side of my neck. I turn my head, giving him access to do whatever he wants.
The tenderness of his kisses mixed with the bite of the fabric binding my wrists is maddening.