Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
His big body settles over me as he supports his weight, his arms pressed down into the mattress. He bends his head, lips finding my breast in a startling move of reverence. His tongue drags across a peaked nipple, and just that easy, he has me writhing once again. My body arches up, chasing the friction, needing more.
When his hips roll forward and the heavy length of him presses against me, I nearly lose it.
I grip his arms, nails biting into hard muscle. He doesn’t rush. He just looks down at me, watching every flicker of reaction as he slowly pushes in.
The stretch is glorious. Exquisite. I gasp, not from pain but from the overwhelming fullness of it. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried deep, pressed tight to my hips, his body trembling with restraint above mine.
And then… he moves.
Not slow. Not soft. He thrusts hard and deep, each stroke pushing a moan from my lips. There’s nothing gentle in the way he takes me now, and I don’t want it to be. I want it wild. I want it rough. I want it to echo inside me so I never forget what it feels like to be claimed like this.
Penn groans deep in his throat, forehead pressed to mine as his hips piston between my thighs. I wrap my legs around him, dragging him closer, deeper, and the friction is so intense, so perfect, it pushes me right back toward the edge. Surely, I don’t have another in me but with one hard, deep thrust, another orgasm breaks free, a violent quake that leaves me arching again, nails raking down his back.
Penn curses, a guttural sound that shakes against my skin as he drives harder, deeper—one, two, three more strokes—and then he’s coming too.
He buries his face in my neck, his body twitching as he releases with a broken growl. “Fuck yes, Mila.”
We lie tangled together, sweat-slicked and gasping, my heartbeat drumming against his chest. Three massive orgasms from a man who was hell-bent on getting me there. None of this was on my bingo card for this year. My life has spiraled out of control.
But I just survived the hurricane force of Penn Navarro and for once, I don’t feel like I’m running from the chaos.
I’m welcoming it.
CHAPTER 18
Penn
The suite I rented is on the twenty-second floor of the Fairmont, overlooking the river. It’s clean and modern, with cool tones of steel and slate and understated elegance in the brushed chrome fixtures and stylish furniture. A glass coffee table anchors the sitting area, and floor-to-ceiling windows flood the space with natural light. If I were to press my face against the window and look left, I’d see the baseball field across the river, though the view isn’t what I’m focused on.
Across from me, seated with her laptop balanced on her bent legs, is Jillian Towne—the journalist who ran Mila’s story. She’s younger than I expected, maybe early thirties, with short dark hair that curls softly around her jaw. Her sharp brown eyes flick between me and Mila, who sits quietly on the edge of the couch, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Jillian is professional, polished, and looking at me with the eagerness of a young journalist poised to win a Pulitzer.
“You really want to do this?” Jillian asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Mila’s article already stirred things up. This will add fuel to the fire.”
“That’s the point,” I say, dead serious, but I do look to Mila for confirmation. If this scares her in any way, I won’t do it, but so far she’s on board.
Of course, I have to look away quickly because any time I look at the black-haired beauty, I want to pull her into my arms and fuck her senseless. I cannot get enough of her, and every time I tell myself this will never last. And yet, nothing has ever felt so right as when I’m with her… inside of her.
I bite my cheek, letting the pain ground me and force away the impending hard-on that will soon follow my lewd thoughts.
Jillian’s verification helps. “So, to be clear, you want to provoke whoever’s behind the threats with this article?”
I nod. “I do.”
Her fingers pause above her keyboard. “Why? Wouldn’t that put you at greater risk?”
“I’m not worried about me,” I say and take a moment to explain that I’ve employed security for protection. Jillian doesn’t know it, but a Jameson agent is standing just outside the hotel room door, waiting on us. “Mila is paying the price for something we both did. And that ends now. I want this over sooner rather than later.”
Jillian shifts slightly in her chair, still skeptical. “All right. I’ll listen. But if you’re planning to call people out by name—”
“I am.”
She holds up a hand. “Just understand that could cross into libel, depending on what you say.”