Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Chapter
Four
Ryann
The man who just stole the title of tender lover, and giver of my very first orgasm, pulls his hips back, driving in me with wild possessive thrusts. A dark gleam shines in his eyes. His strong jawline compels me to reach up the best I can as my hands are locked behind me. I run my lips over the sharp cut of Ryoichi’s chin.
“I want . . . I want to taste you.” I look down as flames crawl over my cheeks
“Ahh, do you know what you ask, bijin?” Ryoichi’s hands clamp onto the headboard as he fucks me slowly. “You are asking to taste us.”
My walls tighten around the titanium plate of his dick, and I say, “Yes, Ryoichi.”
A chuckle that would otherwise cause my walls to spasm incessantly goads my ears. He thinks I’m innocent.
I’m quirky, yes.
Innocent, no.
Well, not really. I mean, I read manga. I know things. But I was today years old when I had my first intense, earth-shattering orgasm. I’ve had tiny ones, though.
“I want to taste us,” I say.
“As you wish.”
I gulp crisp air as Ryoichi moves us until I’m on top. Still his captive, I use my stomach muscles for support since I cannot anchor my palms onto the bed. My wet mouth envelops the head of his slick erection. I shudder. The flavor of us has melded together into a sensual, addictive taste.
My tongue swirls around Ryoichi’s dick until I’ve popped as much of him as I can to the back of my throat. This isn’t easy. His length and girth become my contender as I slurp frantically at his dick. Will he cum?
Again, he flips me. Ryoichi’s targeted the bonds around my wrists, holding them hostage.
“I wasn’t done, Ryoichi!” I huff.
Sparks flicker in his eyes as he murmurs, “You’ll forgive me soon enough, bijin.”
“You don’t get to call me sweet names and—” My face plants into the feather-soft mattress, and a massive cock rams viciously into my channel. Stabbing my core with measured thrusts.
“Ahh, this sweet, sweet pussy, Ry.”
I expect to curse Ryoichi, but his name comes floating from my mouth with dizzying appreciation. “Yes, yes, harder. Right there, Ryo, right there, baby.”
His balls slap at the soft flesh of my mound, and I rock back on my knees until my lower body fails me. Ryoichi claims my wrists so tight behind me that my body screams from the abuse. The way he controls every inch of my body hurts so good. My nerves buzz like I’ve sampled my first hit from the street corner pharmacist.
Ryoichi screws my body until my lungs feel the punishment of the Los Angeles Marathon, and my muscles threaten to twist off. The moment his orgasm unleashes into my body, a surreal calm falls around us. We drop onto the bed. Ryoichi removes the silk from my wrists, kissing the tarnished area.
Apology laces into his charming Japanese accent. “You bruise easier than I assumed, Ryann.”
“It’s okay. Just a line.” I run my fingertip over the pink striation.
His lips move in devotion over the marred flesh. “No. It’s not. We must talk.”
From a distance, a constant ring worries my ears. Like the woman who spilled coffee on herself on the first day of work, I’m moving in a thousand different directions. I climb off the bed and stalk into the living room of my suite. “Yes, talk. I have you until midnight. But if I don’t answer this FaceTime, my best friend will go straight to the consulate.”
Ryoichi’s eyes glide over my ass as he follows me from the bedroom and past the khaki beach-themed couch. “I know you’ve gotta get back to another assignment, I’m sure.” My voice dips in sorrow. You’re just one creepy woman who loves manga, Ry. This time next week, Ryoichi will be another woman’s book boyfriend. “Just to be transparent, my friend will go berserk if I don’t answer.”
I reach down to pick up my cellphone.
“What friend?” Ryoichi asks.
“Ess . . .” I begin, yet my voice trails off as a sense of foreboding creeps into my psyche.
Ry Pie, you’re sharing too much.
“Um, just a second,” I mutter, eyebrows tugging tightly as I glimpse the screen. Essence isn’t calling. She’s actually got another hour. Since I was in a depressed funk the first few days on vacation—shit, I’ve been holed in one hotel room or another since leaving—I’d insisted my bestie call at a designated time each day. However, I’d used my safety as my reason for the daily calls instead of revealing my sour mood.
My thumb flicks over endless calls from two different numbers, one of which I’ve saved on my phone. “Book Boyfriend Extraordinaire keeps calling me.”
“Don’t answer.”
“Wh—” My query draws a sharp inhale, and my entire body follows suit. I stiffen, shoulders jolting. A loud knock descends on the door. Not a knock. The last time someone banged on the door like that, it was Easter, and the Five-O was after my cousin. He’s in prison for life now.