Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
She says nothing, but her heavy breathing speaks volumes.
“I’ll count to three, give you time to decide if you want to walk away, but before we start the clock, I should tell you, I saw the page you marked in your latest little love book.”
Her cheeks pinken the prettiest fucking shade, and I lean forward, pressing my lips to her ear. “I memorized everything he did to her…and I want to do it to you, see if you like what you read as much as you think you do.”
Her chest heaves, and as I pull back, I find that gorgeous green is nearly hidden now, dark irises staring back at me.
Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and my cock cries in jealousy. I want to take that lip between my teeth and bite, slide my shaft over the welt I’ll leave behind before sliding down her throat and begging to feel those teeth scrape across me as she swallows me deep into that long, delicate neck.
Boston’s gentle hands come up then, latching onto my shoulders, her chin lifting as she pushes on me, but she doesn’t push me away like I thought she might.
No, my bride surprises me in the best possible way when instead of shoving me away, she shoves me down. I go fucking willingly, mouth watering when my queen says but one word as my knees meet the step, her blonde brow raised high. “Three.”
My entire fucking being tingles, an electric shock-like feeling starting at the base of my skull and zapping down to my feet.
I’m on my knees in front of my wife, and I’m about to make her fucking scream.
Chapter
Eighteen
Enzo
My mouth waters, my hands vibrating with need and an overwhelming sense of anxiousness.
I’ve thought about the first time I’d get to touch her more times that I can count, imagined hundreds of different ways this would go, and while I did fuck my own hand once to the image of taking her on these very stairs, no fantasy could possibly match the real thing.
My bride staring down at me, panting and trembling with glazed eyes and parted lips…and we haven’t even started yet.
All I’ve done is place my hands on her thighs and her head’s already hit the glass behind it.
“Are you pent up?” I tease, palms sliding higher and taking the hem of her dress with me. “Are you going to come before I even get to touch you with my tongue?”
“You wish it would be that easy,” she rasps, licking her lips, eyes following the path of my hands.
“Wrong. I want to earn my dessert.”
“Then you better hope you can serve a five-course meal first, because if there’s one thing I am, it’s stubborn in all areas.”
“Don’t worry.” My chest rises and falls rapidly, eyes zeroed in on the curve of her thigh as I choose the very first spot of her I’ll ever kiss. I spot a tiny little scar, the slightest shade different from the rest of her skin, and lock on. Right there. “I won’t leave you hanging. I’ll stay buried between your legs all night if that’s what it takes.” Leaning forward, I press my lips to her heated flesh, groaning at the first contact, and it’s only her fucking thigh. My tongue slips out and I swipe it across the satin that is her skin, slowly kissing it again before my teeth close over the spot.
Boston hisses, shaking at the feel of my teeth, her hands slamming onto the wall beside her, and I want her to bury them in my hair, yank me closer and ride me until my face is raw and her skin is pebbled with the burn of my stubble.
My palms glide higher and higher, pausing when the tight hem of the dress gets stuck beneath the curve of her ass, so fucking plump the material couldn’t possibly slide over it without a little help.
My hands slide along the backs of her thighs until I’m cupping her ass in the curve of my palm. I squeeze and she clenches in my hands.
“Fuck, I want to turn you around, see my hand on you and the difference in our skin tones. See how perfect they look together, but I’ll save that for another time.”
“Presumptuous, are we?”
My chuckle is dark, and when I pull my hands from her ass, I yank the dress with it, leaving it to pool around her waist. “Yes. We are.”
I shove her hips to the wall, reveling in the little mewl of approval that leaves her. My hands slide forward, fingers following the point of her hips down her panty line, and when I’m met with moisture in the center, my chest rumbles.
“I knew it,” I rasp. “Knew you were wet for me. Tell me, did it turn you on to hear your husband fuck himself knowing he was staring at you while he did it?”