Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Under the press of my mouth, she opens eagerly. As I dip inside, I taste the need in her kiss and I can’t help but groan.
In the past, she’s always been more assertive in bed than in conversation, almost like she felt compelled to perform for my pleasure. Given what I know now about her corporate sex life, that makes sense. But what we have feels different. Real. Not like she’s trying to coax or dazzle me, but more like she simply wants to be close to me.
Right or wrong, smart or not, I want the same.
Time turns meaningless when I pull her T-shirt over her head. The yellow bikini top she wore all evening distracted me each time I caught a glimpse of the strappy, suggestive thing. Now it’s just in my way.
When I tug on the string at her back, the two triangles of fabric fall away from her breasts. I break the kiss long enough to pull the rest of the bathing suit top over her head. Bethany barely has a moment to gasp before I’m back her mouth again, eating at her like I’m starved, and cradling her perfect breasts in my hands, thumbs stimulating her nipples.
She encourages me by deepening the kiss and dropping her hands to my fly. With a few snaps of her deft fingers, she opens my shorts, shoves my underwear aside, and wraps her fingers around my aching length.
“Beth.” I can’t stop the moan. “Fuck, you do this to me…”
“What?” she whispers as she presses her lips up my neck and dusts them across my jaw.
“Turn me on and inside out. No woman has ever done to me what you can.”
Shit. I’m giving her power over me, handing it to her on a silver platter. If she’s only taking advantage of me for cover or merely having a fling for her amusement, I shouldn’t make using me so easy. But her touch is like that favorite song I’ll never stop wanting to hear. It calls to me, excites yet comforts me. It gets stuck in my head until I’m unable to think of anything else.
“I never really enjoyed sex until you,” she admits. “And now all I want is to spend time with you, block out the rest of the world, and learn every part of you. I want to know how much better it feels when I pleasure you because I choose to.”
What is she saying? My muddled mind can’t quite untangle her meaning while her fingers glide up and down my cock.
My flesh is on fire. I can’t stand clothes between us. I don’t want anything separating us—especially not the dubious past or our uncertain future. I only want right now and the two of us naked.
“Jesus, Beth…” I hiss when her fist pulls its way down my length again. Her free hand tugs at my shirt in impatience.
As soon as I yank the cotton over my head and cede my bare torso to her, her lips are all over me. She nips at my shoulder, strokes my arm, laves my nipples. Her every touch makes me shudder. There’s no stopping this or worrying about sanity. It’s as if we both want to wring every ounce of pleasure possible out of this moment.
In case it never comes again.
When I reach for her shorts, Bethany dodges my grasp by sinking to her knees. I feel her hot breath on the crest of my cock, now aching and straining for her. The cynic inside me tells me she’s offering me a blow job to distract me. She’s sucked other schmucks like me to make them compliant, not to make love.
Then she takes me in her mouth, cradling my dick on her tongue, then draws her lips around me in a slow, sensual tug. An electric zap charges up my spine with primal need to have her—possess her—in every way possible. God, this feels like it means something.
“Oh…yeah.” I tangle my fingers in her hair, tug away the elastic band holding it up, then grab the silky skeins by the fistful. “Beth!”
As I ride her mouth, she hums around me, seemingly greedy to have all of me. I hold nothing back because nothing else happening between us matters in this moment—not my suspicions, my worries, or my fear of heartbreak. Our connection matters. The woman I’ve fallen for is touching me, and I swear I feel her giving me something far beyond a mere blow job. She’s giving me all of herself.
The nagging cynic inside me shouts that I’m romanticizing this moment because I want her to be innocent and every swipe of her tongue feels so good that my eyes are rolling in the back of my head. Yes, what she’s doing to me feels epic, but that’s not why I’m refusing to listen to that nasty voice in my head right now.