Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
An odd urge to tell her not to speak to my husband like this slammed into me. I had no idea where it came from. Objectively speaking, she was totally right.
“I’m going to give my daughter a bath, read her a story, and put her to bed.” Row threw a thumb over his shoulder, then pointed at my husband. “You better not fucking kill anyone else while I’m gone.” He glanced at Cal, then grabbed her by the hand and tugged her close. “And I’m taking my wife with me.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Ambrose. I was sending a message.” Tate rearranged his pitchfork cuff links.
“Next time, use email, fuckface.”
Row and Cal disappeared back into the hallway. Still shaken, I stumbled to their kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, and filled it with tap water, taking big gulps. I rinsed the glass, set it on a dish rack, and gripped the edges of the sink, drawing a breath.
Tate’s arms bracketed me from either side, locking me with my stomach pressed to the counter. His mouth found my ear. “Now.”
His voice reverberated in the empty space between my thighs.
I knew what he meant.
Shivering with delight, my thighs parted on their own accord, thick, sticky heat gathering between them. His torso was flush against my back, and my muscles jumped reflexively at the sudden touch. He reached down under my skirts from behind, flipping the long dress over my upper body. With his free hand, he dipped his fingers into my panties, stroking my pussy, which slurped excitedly at his touch.
“No,” I gasped, but even as the word tumbled out of my mouth, I kept chasing his elusive, maddening strokes. “Cal and Row will hear us.”
He tugged my panties down to my lower thighs, then kicked my legs apart with his shiny loafer. “They might even catch us if they get lucky.”
“Are you on some kind of an episode? I am not contaminating my friends’ kitch—”
“Row fucked Calla on every surface in my Belgravia house, Mamaroneck mansion, and Mediterranean superyacht. I’m merely returning a favor. Besides, his bath and story routine with that kid? Half an hour long. Minimum. That kid reads sixth-grade books every night.” His fingers skimmed up my ribs. “Fuck. You’re so sexy it’s a health hazard. If I don’t bury my cock inside you right now, I am going to die.”
I heard his zipper rolling down. No foreplay. No kissing. This wasn’t the act of making love. This was him fucking me, conquering the few parts I refused to share with him until now.
“Sounds good. We never signed a prenup,” I clapped back, grabbing onto the tap for dear life.
“Hold on tight.” He guided the fat head of his cock into me. A dark, evil laugh prickled my skin. “Oh, and for the record, you’ll never be rid of me. I’ll haunt you from the grave, sweetheart.”
He teased me first, taking his sweet time drawing circles with his tip around my entrance. Cal’s and Row’s voices rose from the hallway, only a few feet away from us. They were talking to their nanny while my husband drew circles around the lips of my pussy with his cock, dipping it an inch or two before pulling away. I chased his touch, past shame, pride, and reason. Wiggled my arse, offering myself to him. But he was drawing pleasure from making me desperate, crazed with heat.
Breathlessly, I reached for my clit and massaged it with my fingers. This set him off. He withdrew from me, grabbed my waist, and swiveled me to face him. His gray eyes darkened into two onyx pools.
“Stop defying me every step of the way,” he snarled.
“I’ll never stop.” I tilted my head up. “Nev—”
He slammed into me all at once. I cried out with such abandon, I was sure not only Row and Cal heard me but the rest of the East Coast. Our hosts’ voices snuffed into tense silence. God, this was so embarrassing. They knew we were fucking inside their house. What must they think of me?
Tate read my mind, a smug smirk spreading across his face. I could feel his lips spreading across the shell of my ear. “How about you focus on how I’m giving you the best and the only dick you’ll ever have and stop worrying about people who had anal sex in my Jacuzzi three months ago?”
He pressed home again. Long and thick, he filled me a bit beyond my capacity, and I stretched around him, welcoming the slight uncomfortableness, marveling at the way I could feel the shape of him inside me. The prominent crown. The thick, curving veins. It was a shock to my system.
Before I could recover, Tate grabbed me by the backs of my thighs so my arse was up in the air, detached from the counter, tilting my pelvis just so that he’d have a good angle to hit my G-spot. His thrusts were long and controlled, steady, as he pumped into me with fierce, deep strokes. His eyes were locked on mine the entire time, in a confusing power struggle I was too pleasure-drunk to decode. My legs were languid in his rough palms as he shagged me. It was rough and punishing, wild with fury and passion, and I knew the scent of us was going to cling to the many layers of my dress. It took me a few moments—maybe even minutes—to realize Tate wasn’t blinking as he glared at me.