Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Oh, shit.
Oh, oh, oh!
My mouth pulls open, but no sound comes out as my vision blurs.
Fireworks.
Fireworks galore, and they’re all screaming green.
The roughest O of my life shakes me to bits. Eternities condense into minutes and even the walls are throbbing.
Only the steady sensation of cool water striking my back keeps me grounded, standing, together. I’ve turned into so much fragile glass in his hands.
Hurricane Chris owns me, tames me, works me over the way only a man with his carnal knowledge can.
Every touch screams obsessed—and I’m becoming too addicted.
Shamelessly obsessed.
I don’t even notice when he draws away until I start to come out of the rapture.
Then I feel him behind me, holding my hips, gently making sure I don’t collapse.
There’s the faint tearing of a condom ripping open.
He reaches around for my chin, twists my head, and makes me look at him before he fills me again.
“You, Cordelia Burr, are built to fuck. I’m going to use this every damn day till my balls are drier than the Mojave Desert,” he growls, cupping my mound with a territorial squeeze. “This week, you’re mine completely. Mine.”
Jesus, that word.
That guttural tone.
That jealous spark in his eyes.
As long as I live, I’ll marvel at how good it feels to be his property.
And he knows it, the cruel reminder hidden in the need etched on his face when he pulls my mouth to his.
We kiss with a sticky-sweet passion unlike anything before.
He won’t stop kissing me as he pushes inside me, and not gently like last night.
This morning was made for him and what he loves and I’m more than okay with it.
...he’s made me okay with being used.
But I enjoy the challenge, too.
I like weathering his fierceness and stabbing thrusts, seeing how much punishment I can take.
Then he finds that spot deep inside me that makes my knees buckle.
“Chris!” I reach for his hand and squeeze until it hurts, digging my nails into his palm.
He makes a rough sound, something between a gasp and a chuckle.
His thrusts quicken, driving the full force of his body into me, making my flesh ripple.
Stroke by stroke, his balls pressed so tight every time he pushes in to the hilt, I’m gone.
Catapulted clean out of my mind.
“Come for me, beautiful. Come harder than last night,” he tells me.
Yeah, there’s no holding back now.
Pleasure cascades through my veins like the steady drumming of the shower spraying us.
Somehow, he manages to hold me up, keeps me from crashing to the tile floor.
I’m one with the water and its staccato rhythm by the time I glide down from my convulsions.
And Chris won’t have it—he won’t let anything carry me away from him.
His hips speed up, lurching like an engine.
He becomes a human jackhammer.
One thick hand finds its way between my legs.
His fingers know no mercy, taming my clit, short-circuiting every nerve.
I never thought I could come twice less than a minute apart.
But Chris plays me like the master musician he is, and my body wants to sing for him with all the weight of my soul.
My eyes pop open and I gasp, holding my breath.
That burning wave crashes over me again, higher than ever, and his cock owns my depths, forcing me to leap over the edge into ecstasy.
“Delia, don’t stop. More, woman,” he whispers, deep and gravelly. “Give me more. You’ll wear my name from the inside out by the time we’re done, I swear. Come with me!”
And I do.
Those beautifully vicious thrusts leave me no choice.
I can’t believe I’m coming again as he swells and explodes inside me, releasing a pent-up growl like a deprived lion tasting its mark.
His hips shove me against the wall as he delves so deep, as he fills me, as he pulses against my womb.
Then I break, screaming as he releases in that damnable condom an insane part of me resents.
We come together beautifully, though.
Hard and long, grinding our teeth, both of us straining for breath by the end.
A century later, Chris pulls out and cleans up, planting a few more kisses on my shoulder.
I expect him to leave me alone to finish showering.
Apparently, I should give up trying to predict this man.
He steps back into the shower, his hands roaming me again. He squirts a few pumps of body wash into his palm and rubs it into my skin.
My nose tingles, inhaling citrus and testosterone.
And I’m a little bit—okay, a lot—in love with how he explores me in this new calm, tender way that sends ten thousand butterflies soaring.
Kisses say more than words.
A caress is an entire novel.
And that quiet, reverent look in his eyes is a shamrock maze I could wander in forever.
It’s too perfect, except for one little thing.
This isn’t enough.
I know I’m losing my mind when I want to feel his come inside me. I must be clinically insane to want this to continue, to make it into more than just the best sex I’ll ever have.