Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Oh, God, please . . . please let me, Fin!” I tip onto my toes, chasing his touch.
“Are you putting on a show, darling? Do you think the journalists will see?”
Something spikes through me, my heart misfiring as my gaze slides to the wall-size window. A sensation swims through me. It’s panic. It’s power. It’s something I can’t make sense of, even as I remember Fin’s earlier words.
Privacy glass. We can see out, but no one can see in.
“Maybe you only hope they will.” His harsh whisper curls around my ear before the realization of what this is echoes in my head. I told him—this is one from the vault of my secret reveries. A fantasy too sordid, too dirty for actual words. Yet I must’ve whispered it to him.
“They’ll be so jealous. This lush body, this perfect pussy. This hair and this ass—only I get to touch them. Because you’re all mine.”
I make a velvety groan of his name as pleasure begins to violently pulse through me.
“Maybe they’ll take photos and show their friends. Print them and keep them for their special alone times,” he says, using my own words.
An incomplete fragment of memory pulls at me. He had been inside me on our wedding night when I whispered my fantasy. That I sometimes imagined being watched; fucked and coveted at the same time. His rhythm faltered; then he whispered a harsh curse as my fantasies drove him deeper.
“You’ll be so shiny and slick when I get my mouth on you. You’re a feast, my love. And I’m going to devour you whole.”
My body spasms around his fingers, a reaction to this invasion, to his words. My climax detonates like a bomb, my body twisting as I grip the back of his neck and come undone.
His arms come around me in an honest-to-goodness bear hug. Solid. Fortifying. Safe.
“Thank you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my hairline.
“You’re welcome,” I answer ridiculously, my wits still loose and rolling about my empty head.
Twice. I came twice in pretty quick succession. A first for me.
The first I remember, anyway.
“Three for three?” he asks with a wicked grin, either intuiting my thoughts or maybe reading them on my face.
“Three?”
His hand curls around my shoulder, encouraging me forward. My palms flatten to the dresser top, cosmetics rattling and rolling as he pulls on my hips, and my bum thrusts out. Like my body was made for this. Made for him.
He’s so large behind me, all hard angles and slopes, every muscle clearly defined in his reflection. But it’s his expression that takes my breath. So focused. So serious.
I roll my lips inward as his hands slide over my cheeks. As they caress, as they squeeze. As he drops to his knees with an awe-filled “You’re so, so pretty, just . . . everywhere.”
His appraisal brings with it a disgraceful wash of pleasure. Every inch of my skin seems to inexplicably tingle.
“What are you . . .” Why are you? And how can I like this?
“You’re not the only one with fantasies to fulfill,” he purrs.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“So many questions,” he taunts as his thumbs slide to part me to his gaze.
I close my eyes, the sensations too large to process; mewling—yes, mewling!—as his thumb slides over my flesh. My insides throb as his hot breath hits me, my body bucking wildly to the press of his tongue. He slicks through my wetness with a groan of appreciation, licks as though I am the tastiest dish.
I’ve never done anything like this—never had anyone go down on me while standing. From behind. It feels so dirty. So wrong. And yet so utterly wonderful.
“Wider, love. Spread yourself for me.”
How, at the age of almost thirty, am I discovering this is even a thing?
“Don’t make me ask twice.”
“Oh!” And, apparently, I enjoy being spanked. And having my bum squeezed by big, possessive hands.
“That’s my girl.”
That shouldn’t press my pleasure buttons, but it does. I screw my eyes tight against the sight of my pleasured expression, my nails scraping the wooden top as Fin buries his tongue so deep, I swear I can feel it behind my belly button.
It seems like no time at all before that familiar sensation begins to build. A sweet and urgent kind of agony.
Already? Really?
Yes, really, as I begin to pant like a wild thing.
“You’re so fucking delicious.” His words, their low vibration, rock me to my core. I grind back against him—against his face—moaning like I’ve been paid to do so.
There can’t be this much pleasure in the world.
And yet there is, as Fin doesn’t so much savor as devour, twisting my orgasm into something otherworldly, his tongue and fingers plucking me apart. Just as he’d promised.
With a frenzied cry, I drop to my elbows, my arms giving out as something swift and sleek rushes through me, from me. I collapse in a heap on the now-messy dresser.