Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 146289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 731(@200wpm)___ 585(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 731(@200wpm)___ 585(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
And just like that, I come.
I come on his hand, making a small high sound that’s half a cry and half a gasp and my hips lift off the bed and his fingers do not stop, and I am riding out the orgasm with my hand on the back of his neck and my forehead against his shoulder, holding on for dear life.
He works me through it until the waves subside, then he brings me down.
Then he’s between my legs again.
This time I feel him.
The blunt hot head of him at my entrance.
He does not enter me immediately. He drags himself through my wetness, slowly, the head of him moving along my folds, against my clit, back down, the slow steady tease of a man who is going to enter me when he is good and ready and not a second sooner. The sound is so loudly wet it borders on pornographic.
“Alasdair,” I moan, greedy and impatient.
“Patience, foxglove.”
“I want…” I breathe.
“I know what you want.”
“Now, please,” I beg, because damn it, I am begging. “I want you inside me now.”
He laughs against my throat, a rich low, almost menacing chuckle.
He lines himself up.
He enters me slowly.
Inch by inch. The kind of entry where I feel every single part of him going in. He is so big and I am so wet and we still have to take it slow because my body has not been opened to a man in a long time and certainly not to this much of one. He stops halfway. He lets me adjust, lets me find my breath. He kisses my mouth and goes a little deeper.
He stops again, fully seated, to the hilt.
He is so deep in me I can’t breathe.
He holds himself there. He puts his forehead against mine. His breathing has gone uneven for the first time.
“Iris?”
I make a whimpering sound.
“I’m not going to be careful with you much longer.”
“Good.”
“Foxglove,” he warns.
“I mean it. I’m not going to break.”
He kisses me again and starts to move.
The first stroke in and out is slow. The second is slower. The third is the same. He’s keeping the discipline, even with all of him inside me, even with his control as thin as it’s ever been before. He’s working me up to him. He’s letting me feel every withdrawal and every return, and the rhythm is the rhythm of a man who’s decided to ruin me in stages.
This is just the first stage.
And I come again.
I didn’t even know I was that close, the orgasm slamming into me from nowhere. My hips are lifted slightly, and he’s hitting something inside me at this angle, and the slow, steady pressure of it builds and builds and breaks in a wave that has me digging my nails into his back, making sounds against his throat that I have zero control over.
He fucks me slow through the whole of it, and when I am limp and breathless and crying a little, he kisses my temple and pulls out.
“Turn over, foxglove.”
I turn.
I’m on my hands and knees on his bed just like last night. The cool of the linen is against my breasts and my forearms. My ass is in the air. I am offering myself to him again like this, only I know this time will be different.
His hand lands flat on the small of my back.
“Christ. Look at you.”
“Look at me what?” I prod, wanting to hear it.
“Look at you on your knees on my bed waiting for me to fuck you, foxglove. I’ve wanted this since the day I first saw you through the window.”
He enters me again.
From this angle he is deeper. I make an inhuman sound as he drags himself out slow, then pushes back in. He sets a rhythm that is harder than the first one, the slap of his hips against my ass quiet in the room but real, his hands at my waist holding me steady, his cock moving in me at a depth I didn’t realize it could go.
“That’s it. That’s it, lass.”
“Alasdair.”
“Take it. Take it for me. There you go.”
I take it.
His pace builds. He is using my hips for leverage now. He’s no longer being careful with me. The discipline has stopped being the discipline of a man holding back; it has become the discipline of a man taking what he has been allowed to take, and the difference is in his rough hands and his raspy voice and the angle of his pelvis against me.
He fucks me harder.
He fucks me like a man who has been promised this for a long time.
He fucks me until I’m crying into the bedspread and my arms have given out and I am face-down with my ass in the air and his hands at my waist and his cock moving in me in long deep strokes, and the guttural, primal sounds I’m making echo around the room.