Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Breaking away for a moment, I whisper against her lips, “Tell me what you want.”
She looks up at me with a hunger that matches my own, her eyes dark like uncut emeralds and filled with longing. “I want you,” she breathes out.
I’m shaking. I never fucking shake. I stare at her for a full second, making damn sure she’s not going to change her mind. She stares right back, not a hint of hesitation. Just hunger.
I take the key card from her, sliding it into the lock so slowly it’s almost torture. The green light clicks, and I push the door open, but I don’t move. Not yet.
“One more chance,” I say, my forehead pressed to hers. “If I walk in, I’m staying. All fucking night.”
She looks up at me, blue eyes steady. “I’m tired of playing it safe.”
It’s all I need. I shove the door wide and drag her inside, the door slamming shut behind us so hard it rattles the art on the wall.
This is what it feels like to win the goddamn lottery.
The room is bigger than I expected—soft light, king bed turned down with surgical precision, a little fruit plate on the table. Frankie moves halfway across the carpet before I even get the door locked. She quickly works at the little buttons running down the front of her light blue dress.
I watch her, hungry, memorizing the way she moves. The way her hips roll when she steps out of the last shoe. The way her hair falls when she bends over, exposing the line of her neck, begging to be kissed or bitten or both.
I toss my wallet and keys onto the mahogany dresser with a clatter, strip off my stainless-steel watch that feels suddenly too heavy, and close the blackout curtains with one hard yank that sends dust motes dancing in a sliver of streetlight. The world shrinks to just us, the faint mechanical hum of the AC rattling through the vents, the slow thunderous tick of my pulse getting louder and meaner with each breath.
Frankie faces me, wearing just a frilly white lace bra with tiny pink bows at each strap and matching high-cut panties that hug the curve of her hips. She braces her hands behind her on the edge of the bed, fingers pressing into the crisp white duvet. My eyes meet hers—aqua irises nearly swallowed by dilated pupils—and she raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, like she's daring me to touch her.
So, I do. I cross the room and set my palms on her thighs, pushing them open just enough to step between. She’s warm and tense, her skin already prickling under my hands. I trace a finger around her collarbone, slow as hell, not because I’m patient but because I want to see her fall apart a piece at a time.
The air between us is electric, charged with a heat that could melt steel. She’s sitting back, her lips parted just enough to tease, her chest rising and falling softly, like she’s already imagining what’s coming next. The way she looks at me—like I’m her last meal and she’s starving—makes my cock twitch against the fabric of my dress pants.
“You’re way overdressed,” she whispers, her voice low and dripping with intent. Those words alone are enough to make me hard as fuck, but it’s the way her tongue flicks out to wet her lips that seals the deal. She’s daring me, begging me to fucking take her apart.
“Easy fix,” I growl, but I’m not about to let her off that easily. No, I want to make her squirm first. I close the distance between us, my hand snaking around the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. It’s soft, silky, and I grip it hard, pulling her head back just enough to expose the pale column of her throat. Her breath hitches, and I can feel her pulse racing under my fingertips.
I lean in, my lips brushing against hers, teasing, lingering. “You want me to fix it?” I murmur, my voice rough with need. “Then fucking beg for it.”
Her eyes flash with defiance, but her body betrays her. Her hips press forward, grinding against my thigh, and I can feel the heat of her through the fabric of my pants. She’s soaked already, and the thought of how wet she is makes me let out a low, feral growl.
“Fucking please,” she growls, her voice trembling. “Please, just—”
I don’t let her finish. My mouth crashes down on hers, hungry and possessive. Her lips part instantly, and I plunge my tongue inside, fucking her mouth with the same intensity I want to fuck her pussy. She moans into me, her hands clawing to pull my shirt free of my pants, desperate to get it off.