Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 144042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 720(@200wpm)___ 576(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 720(@200wpm)___ 576(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
She’s so damn sexy, completely carnal in the way she looks at me from under lowered lids, in the way she captures my lips and eats at my mouth as though all this fucking has her starving. I’ve never had sex like this before—the give and take. We’re communicating here. Earlier, every touch was tempered with tenderness. Now, it’s hard need. I want to get under her skin, push into her heart.
She told me she was mine. She has to know I’m hers too. She fucking owns me now.
Stella’s fingers tangle in my hair, the grip bringing a bite of pain that spurs me on.
“So good,” she pants into my mouth. “So good.”
I kiss the damp curve of her neck, suckle the soft skin where her scent is the strongest. With a grunt, I tumble her back onto the bed and come down on top of her. Stella wraps her legs around my waist. When I grip her thigh and lift it higher, she moans and wiggles closer.
“Tell me,” I say, slowly fucking her into the bed. “Tell me what gets you off.”
Her eyes lock onto me. I see the surprise in them, like she’s never been asked. Truth is, I’ve never bothered asking either. Selfish. Not with her. Never with her.
I want to learn Stella, turn her world inside out and upside down.
“My tits,” she blurts out, panting and flushed. “Suck my tits and … oh, God. Do that again. That move …” She groans deeply and pushes up into me. “Again.”
“What?” My lips wobble on a smile, because I’m going to lose it soon. “This?” I thrust, tilting up at the last second.
She mewls. Like a horny kitten. Damn, I like that sound. I love that sound.
“Yes,” she says. “Yes. More.”
Yes, ma’am.
I’m taller than Stella. We don’t line up eye to eye. It isn’t easy keeping my rhythm, moving my ass the exact way she likes while finding a way to suck her swaying tit. But I am a man determined, and the sweet sounds she makes, the way she tenses and clutches me is so fucking worth it. Her pleasure increases mine.
I live there, in her world of pleasure and need, in that hot, sweaty place of skin moving against skin, her body gripping mine. Every move feels like heaven, yet not quite enough. I never want to leave here.
When she begins to come, her tight clasp milking my dick in rhythmic pulls, it’s the biggest high I’ve ever experienced. I work her through it, revel in the way she arches against me, digs her heels into the bed as her orgasm rolls over her. Flushed, sweaty, grunting, and totally uninhibited, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“John,” she says, blinking up at me, wild-eyed.
The first time anyone has ever said my real name during sex. And it’s Stella calling out to me. I don’t know why, but it slices me open on an emotional level I never knew I had. My throat closes up, the air pulling into my lungs burning.
I don’t know if what I’m feeling can even be called pleasure; it hurts too much. I’m pulled too tight, my skin stretched too thin. But damn if I don’t want to plunge right into it. So I do, thrusting mindlessly, reaching, reaching. Stella is all around me, warm skin, rich curves, her hands on my ass, her pussy slick and so damn tight.
I meet her blue eyes and call out—God knows what. Sound tears from my throat, but I don’t hear it past my pounding ears. I look at Stella and fall into the abyss.
I.
Am.
Wrecked.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Stella
* * *
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Rye pops a piece of dragon roll into his mouth and gives John a smug grin as he chews. “Look at you, all calf-eyed and fawning.”
John snorts. “Make up your mind. Am I a calf or a fawn?”
“Both.”
John shoots me a glance, makes a face at Rye. We’re snuggled up in a corner of a massive, private booth, eating dinner with his friends. A large, cream velvet curtain blocks us off from the rest of the restaurant, and I’m surprisingly grateful.
When three-fourths of Kill John decides to go out on the town en masse, people follow. Cameras follow.
I’ve attended red-carpet events. One year, I was even been lucky enough to go to the Met Gala; I wore a black, off-the-rack sheath and gratefully blended into the background to dress watch. But in all those instances, I was working as a hired companion. My attention had focused on soothing my nervous client, stepping in to engage in small talk when someone got tongue-tied, making a running commentary to entertain. I enjoyed myself, but it was still work.
Going out with John as his date while cameras flash and people gawk is entirely different. I find myself feeling territorial, protective. I don’t like the idea of people watching and speculating over him.