Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Really?”
“Really.” He tugs on my hand. “I still owe you some orgasms. Are you here to collect?”
“Am I?” I ask with a tilt of my head.
His response is a yank on my hand to draw me into his home before he slams the door behind me.
He’s pinned me against the door to his apartment. The only barrier between my nipples and the cool wood is the bra I have on. My robe hit the floor the moment Sean tore it off of me.
“Calliope.” That comes out wrapped in a mangled groan. “You’re exquisite.”
I can feel how hard he is as he presses into me from behind. “Take me like this.”
“Like. This,” he repeats my words slowly with more meaning than they ever should possess. They sound sensual, and there’s a depth of longing in them that is palpable.
“Tell me how that would feel,” he teases me with a lick of his tongue up the side of my neck.
Jesus.
I’m glad I pinned up my hair today because that sent a shiver down my spine.
“Like perfection,” I squeak out in a moan. “You’d rip my panties off and slide into me.”
“Bare?” He growls. “You want my cock in that tight little pussy without anything between us?”
I can’t form the single word that would give that to me. I can’t say yes because it’s stuck somewhere inside of me, buried beneath both fear and need.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He lets his fingers do all the talking, giving…everything.
They slide over the lace of my bra to find my left nipple.
He tweaks it with a sharp pinch as his lips press into the skin below my ear. “I fucking love your nipples. So pretty, so hard, so responsive.”
Another tweak and I’m a moaning mess.
I push my ass back, trying to gain more friction against the thick length of his cock. It’s still tucked inside his boxer briefs.
“Fuck me,” I purr. “I want it now.”
“You’re so impatient.” He follows that up with another pinch to my already sensitive nipple. “I’m going to slowly torture you until you come so hard.”
“Promise?” I suck in a deep breath.
It’s useless. I can’t breathe or think. I can’t do anything but chase the orgasm he’s holding just out of my reach.
My hand snakes down my body. “I need to come.”
His hand finds mine, holding it on my stomach just above the lace waistband of my panties. “Not yet.”
“Now,” I demand.
He abandons my hand, and in one effortless motion, his hand is inside of my panties. He traces my cleft with a fingertip before touching my clit with the softest stroke.
My head falls back against his shoulder. “Sean, please.”
“Shhh.” He showers my cheek with soft kisses. “Let go and feel. Just feel.”
With my hands pressed against the door, I give in and do as he says.
I feel.
I feel every skilled movement of his hand. I feel his lips against my cheek, and I feel the orgasm race through me before I almost crumble to my knees from the depth of the pleasure of his touch.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Sean
I knock three times on Calliope’s door.
I’m fucking late for the dinner she’s worked so hard to prepare.
My brother had to bail on a last-minute late-day meeting because of his commitment to meet with the rep from Berdine.
I handled that as quickly as possible, but it still set me back an hour.
I breathe a sigh of relief when Champ swings open the door.
An instant smile pops onto her lips. “You’re here!”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Work was a bastard.”
“No sorries,” she summons me inside with a flick of her wrist. “We haven’t sat down to dinner yet.”
I shove a wicker basket filled with a half dozen Bosc pears at her. “This is for you.”
Her gaze falls to it as I brush past her.
I’ve never been inside this apartment, but the layout mirrors Mrs. Sweeney’s place. That’s where the similarities end.
A dark brown leather sofa sits in the center of the open space. To its right is the dining room. There’s a mid-size table with a bunch of chairs gathered around it. Some match. Some don’t.
One wall is decorated with scattered pictures of people. The frames all vary in style and color, yet they somehow match perfectly with each other.
My gaze travels over those until it reaches the wall that houses a large window. Next to it are four large black frames. Each contains a stunning photograph of New York City taken at night.
Mr. Durkman must agree with me because he’s studying them.
“I make a pitcher of sangria,” Calliope says. “Do you want some?”
I’ve never been able to stomach it, but if she crafted it, I know I’ll love it. “Please.”
“You know everyone.” Her hand sweeps across the room. “Get to mingling, Saint.”
Before I let her rush off, I subtly link one of my pinkie fingers around one of hers. “Have I told you today how beautiful you are?”