Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44297 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44297 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
She’s damn near shaking when I ease back, breath ragged, lips wet.
Her skin glows, flushed and glazed with sweat. Her eyes are glassy.
“You alright?” I ask, low and rough.
She nods, but it’s the kind of nod that says barely. She’s panting now, and shaking.
I pull back to kiss the curve of her breast, breathing in her scent, forgetting the boundaries of what I'm supposed to be doing here, and my head spins. “You gonna come from this?” I twist her nipple as the prospect that she’s close floods me.
Joelle doesn’t respond, but her body does.
She arches hard and moans so loud it echoes off the cabinets. Her thighs clamp and her back bows, and her nipple spurts one last stream across my cheek before she collapses, gasping.
God. Fuck.
I could drag her to my bed right now. Claim every inch of her. Leave her marked, open, leaking from other places. Mine.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stand. She blinks up at me, dazed. Her skin’s flushed and she looks like she’s been woken suddenly from a dream. The sweet taste of her milk lingers on my tongue, forbidden but addictive.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I growl, panting hard, wound so tight I feel like I might explode. “You hear me, Joelle. You’re staying right here.”
She nods without a word.
And hell if I’m not already thinking about how long I can keep her and how many ways I’ll make her beg to be mine.
Chapter 5
Joelle
I don’t remember standing up. I don’t remember moving from the bench. One second, I’m leaking and flushed and desperate, and the next I’m empty and floating somewhere outside my body, nipples tingling, thighs trembling, pussy throbbing, my breathing slow and shallow.
Wade doesn’t touch me or reach for his belt or make a move like he’s owed anything at all.
He looks at me like he knew I’d come apart like that. Like he’s seen it before. I can’t believe what I did. Mortified, I focus on the floor.
“You alright, pretty girl?” he asks, voice low.
I nod because I don’t trust my mouth yet.
There’s a long silence while he studies me. Then he turns and pulls a laundry basket from beside the doorway. He digs through the folded clothes for a moment, then holds up a black T-shirt that’s soft and faded, but clean.
“Take off your shirt.”
I slip it from my arms along with my ruined bra, not bothering to cover myself. He’s seen and touched it all.
“Arms up,” he says.
I do what he asks without thinking.
He slips the shirt over my head, guiding my arms through like I’m a child. The cotton is warm, smelling like soap and sun, and drapes low enough to hide everything.
“Better?” he asks.
I swallow. “Yeah.”
My voice still sounds wrecked. I ball up my bra and shirt and leave it on the bench.
“Good.” He nods, then jerks his head toward the door. “C’mon. Let me show you the rest.”
I follow him, breasts loose, my brain still ten miles behind my body.
What the hell just happened?
Wade didn’t force me. Not even close. He asked. And I said yes, then I orgasmed like a desperate, needy freak.
It was like something bypassed my brain entirely, like my body decided, this man knows what to do, let him handle it.
And he did.
I feel lighter now. Clearer. My skin tingles and my chest no longer aches. My whole body’s loose and warm like I had really good sex. Not that I’d actually know what that’s like. The one time I had sex, I didn’t have an orgasm. My baby’s dad left me wet and still wanting, disappearing when I asked if we should swap numbers so we could see each other again. He saw me again, once, when I was pregnant, but turned his back before I could say anything.
What must Wade think of me? A walking disaster. A clueless woman who almost made herself sick through ignorance of her own body. A woman who orgasmed with a man when all he was doing was trying to help her out with a problem.
It’s so embarrassing.
But Wade doesn’t seem to care about any of it, and I know I’m messed in the head because I want it again. That feeling, of climbing to the highest peak and tumbling into warm water while stars spin above me, is addictive. The blissed-out expression on his face, knowing he was feeding from me and enjoying it, is addictive. There’s no missing the still-present bulge in his jeans.
We step out onto the porch, and I blink against the sudden brightness. The air smells like turned dirt and hay.
Wade points across the property to chicken coops, a small stable, a vast stretch of pasture, and a fence line that runs out of sight.
“We breed cattle, break horses, board a few now and then for money. Lotta upkeep. Lotta hard work.” He looks at me again. “You willing to get your hands dirty?”