Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I cover her mouth with mine before she can say sweet. I give her a hard, punishing kiss, letting go of Athena. There’s nothing sweet about this kiss at all. It’s rough and demanding, full of teeth and fire. I tug on her bottom lip, then let go. “Don’t make me give you too many orgasms again.”
“Oh, please. Punish me,” she says, then fiddles with the bottom of her T-shirt. “You know why I wore the shirt.”
“Because it shows off your sexy shoulder?” It’s such a gift to compliment her.
“Sort of,” she says, then tips her forehead toward the hallway. Don’t have to tell me twice. I offer my hand, then pull her up. Once we’re standing, she says, “I wore it because…it’s easy access.”
Oh, hell yes.
I scoop her up, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her to the main bedroom in seconds. I set her down on the plush carpet and she turns, checking out the floor-to-ceiling windows and the view of the city, lit up and sparkling, from Richardson Bay to the Golden Gate Bridge. But nothing compares to the view in front of me—Everly walking over to my king-size bed. She sits on it and pats the mattress, looking my way. “Is this where you fucked my panties?”
Jesus. Her mouth. Her filthy mouth.
I stalk over to her, cup her chin, lift that gorgeous face. “No. I couldn’t wait. Fucked them on my couch.”
Her smile is filthy. “You dirty, horny man.”
“Yes,” I say unapologetically.
She teases at the bottom of her shirt. “Bet you fucked your fist, too, the night you found my lingerie in Seattle.”
“I fucking did.”
She nibbles on the corner of her lips, then asks, “Want to see all of that bralette?”
That bralette.
Those words echo in my mind. “You wore that bralette for me?”
“Yes,” she says with a too-pleased smile.
“Want to show me, sunshine?”
It’s a question, not a demand. I’m not going to pressure her to take anything off. I don’t know if she’s stripping naked or not. She can take the lead.
“I do,” she says, then stretches out on the bed, shimmying up to the pillows. She’s still wearing her jeans and the shirt, but in no time she whisks off the jeans and she’s down to the shirt, and the panties that match her bralette—they’re red lace too.
I run a hand along her calf, savoring the soft feel of her skin. She takes the bottom of the shirt, slowly teases me with it and pulls it up, up, up, revealing her stomach that I want to kiss and lick.
I take her invitation and climb onto the bed right as she’s pulling up the top to show me her bralette. Cherry red, with a dainty ruffle along the top.
It hits me—this is the first time I’ve even had a peek at her tits and my mouth is watering. My chest is a furnace just from the hint of nipples under that sheer red lace.
“Like it?”
“Fucking love it,” I say, mesmerized as I roam my hands up her soft belly, push up the lace and free those tits. “Fuck me, they’re perfect.” They’re tight and the nipples are a dusky rose, and all I want to do is bury my face against that gorgeous flesh. I bend down, and suck on her right nipple, tugging on it, then drawing it between my lips. She gasps. And arches into me.
It’s fucking glorious, the way she responds. She grabs my head, determined to keep me right there.
Like I’d go anywhere else.
I move to her other breast, kissing, then flicking my tongue along the nipple.
“Max,” she moans, her fingers gripping me impossibly tighter, like they’re a vise, and she refuses to let go.
Good. I love that she wants this so much. Wants me this much. I spend several lust-fueled minutes sucking on her tits till she’s breathless and arching her hips, begging for me.
She pushes my head away.
I rise up. She sits, then reaches under her shirt, and performs the calisthenics that women can do, tugging her bra out one sleeve, then tossing it to the floor.
My chest floods with filthy gratitude. Is that a thing? I think it is, and I am feeling it in every cell in my body.
It’s not lost on me that our intimacy has been a striptease. Each time we’re together she takes off one more item of clothing. Every night she sheds one more garment. Shares more of herself. She’s down to nearly nothing, and this is huge for her. I want to keep earning the chance to please her.
She lies back down and pulls her shirt above her tits so the fabric is on top of her chest. She’s on display, and it can’t be easy for my woman. More of her scars are visible to me for the first time—the two jagged lines on her hip that I’ve seen, and now a hint of reddish-pink raised skin all along the side of her body. Those must extend to her back, the ones she’s most self-conscious of, the ones I can’t see now, and that’s okay.