Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“N-no one.” I could give him a more accurate depiction. Hell, I could write a dissertation if he needed it. But he’s going to have to stop touching me first.
“I can’t wait to hear the sounds you make when I get my mouth on you.”
His words turn to fragments of images in my head, those pictures setting off a wave of reactions that I’m powerless to resist. Driven by instinct and this consuming need, my body moves with the rhythm of his fingers, the sound of my arousal almost lewd.
“You take my fingers so beautifully. Will you throb as hard around my cock?”
Oh. My. Gosh. Just when I think he can’t get any filthier, he ups the ante so perfectly. Whit coaxes my climax with such attention, his thumb at my clit, his fingers a symphony of hard thrusts and delicious come-hither curls, layering sensation upon sensation, driving me senseless, driving my hips to thrust to chase his touch. Endorphins, hormones, and Whit’s dark demands set off a seismic wave of pleasure. I reach out, my fingers scrambling with his jacket and shirt, this desperation crawling through me requiring he take off all his clothes.
“Not yet, darling.” His hand is wet with my arousal as he takes my wrists, pressing them above my head. Another layer. I never imagined I could feel so good.
“Please, Whit.” My body bows as though it would inhale him whole if it could.
His eyes seem to be lit from some light behind them, his expression as wild as any tiger. “You should thank me for fucking you with my fingers.”
I try to, honestly I do, but don’t get past the “th” sound as my body jerks. So. Many. Feelings. So many sensations unraveling the threads holding me together.
“Oh, beautiful girl, that’s it. Come all over my fingers.”
And like Pavlov’s dog and his ringing bell, I do.
Oh, I do.
Then I think I pass out.
17
MIMI
“Don’t go to sleep on me.” With my lips pressed against Whit’s neck, I feel the vibration of his low, rumbled words. I feel kind of boneless and melty. My arms looped loosely around his shoulders like cooked spaghetti as he carries me along the mirrored hallway, his shoes quietly echoing. Honestly, I feel like I could take a nap. I obviously won’t. The man deserves better for an orgasm that literally took my legs out from under me.
“Better bring your A game.”
His chest vibrates with a chuckle at my sex-slurred words, my skin seeming to buzz from the slightest brush. That’s not quite fighting talk.”
“You can put me down, you know.”
“Maybe I don’t want to,” he replies as he adjusts his grip on me at his door. Hooking me higher against his chest, he inputs the code to the keypad with the hand under my butt. Whit pushes the door open, maneuvering my legs through first with a rumbled, “ladies first.”
“So polite.”
“Ladies should always come, Amelia.”
We pass through the lounge where the treetops outside look like spindly skeletons, framed by the night sky. As Whit moves into a long hallway, soft lighting illuminates at the floor automatically.
“Fancy,” I murmur, plucking at the button of his dark shirt, secretly inhaling the scent of him. Dark and spicy. It suits him. “You have light and sex magic.”
“Sex magic?” His eyes dance with amusement as he stares down at me.
“That would be the thing you pick up on.”
He chuckles as he carries me into a darkened room, and my stomach swoops as I realize this must be his bedroom. It’s not like I should be shocked. We’ve more than gone beyond the preliminaries, even if all the bases haven’t been covered. Yet.
Oh my gosh, I’m here in Whit’s bedroom, and we’re about to do the deed unless I’m very much mistaken. Unless there’s an earthquake or I suddenly drop down dead, which isn’t likely considering I can feel my heart tripping like a crazy thing in my chest. I’m about to get naked. With Whit! And I can’t wait to see what’s under that thousand-dollar shirt. I have seen him without his shirt, but it’s been some time. Something tells me it’s not a trick of my imagination that makes him look so much bigger now.
“What are you smiling at?” he asks as he lowers me to the end of a modern four-poster bed. It’s huge, the frame charcoal and the linens the color of clouds. Feels like a cloud, too.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Ducking my head, I fold my nervous fingers over the end of the bed, only to find my chin lifted by his finger.
“Sex magic makes me smile.” His eyes sweep down my body, the look bold and possessive. “That and imagining all the things I’m going to do to you with my wand.”
“You’re going to keep bringing that up, aren’t you?” My reply sounds so cool. Inside, I’m a pot of molten lava—a puddle of embarrassed and turned on.