Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Instead of removing his pants, he sits on the chair. Knees spread. Thumb grazing his lip.
“You are literal perfection,” he says as if he’s in awe. My cheeks flush, and I want to look away from him, but can’t. He holds my attention like he’s taken over. My body now does what he says. “If I didn’t want to fuck you so bad, I could just sit here and stare at you.”
“That’s very nice of you to say, but I’m thankful that staring at me isn’t the plan.”
He smirks. “Are you wet for me?”
“Obviously.”
“It’s not obvious to me.” He shrugs, his eyes darkening. “Show me.”
I flinch. “I … I don’t know what you mean.”
“Show me how wet you are for me.” He refuses to let me look away. “Touch yourself.”
“What?”
“Take your finger,” he says calmly, like we’re talking about how to thread a needle. “And swipe it through your pussy. Show me how wet you are.”
If I was blushing before, I’m bright red now.
“What do you have to be embarrassed about?” he asks. “That you’re a genius? Kind? Funny? Does it embarrass you that you’re wildly beautiful and crazy sexy and the combination of those two things mixed with the rest of you blows my motherfucking mind?”
Woah. I swallow, focusing on his words. I’ve never heard a man say something like that to a woman, let alone to me. It almost feels like he’s playing me, but he’s not.
He really believes that.
“You, a PhD in philosophy, chose to hang out with a fucking fighter and give him the privilege of eating your pussy,” he says, smirking again. “How could you ever be embarrassed around me?”
Something deep inside me steadies, and I expel a breath. My shoulders square as I stand taller. There’s a quiet voice in the back of my mind, spewing every flaw, every reason that I don’t do this.
But, for the first time in my life, I shut it down.
Maybe this is something I do. Maybe I’m not quite all the things that Brooks said, but if he believes it, even part of it, then why shouldn’t I?
If hesitation gets you hit, then maybe quick decisions give you the win.
I hear air rushing through my nose as I lower my hand between my legs. A blast of heat hits my fingers as they reach my inner thighs. They’re sticky, coated with my need for him, and I could probably use that to prove how wet I am for him. But he’s watching, not missing a beat, and seeing how turned on he is from me touching myself is unreal.
My ego will never be the same after this.
I slide my finger through my swollen flesh, shaking as the tip touches my clit. The contact, the briefest flick, nearly sends me over the edge.
“See?” I say, holding my finger in the air. “I’m soaked.”
“Come here.”
I take a few steps toward him. My heart flounders erratically, pounding so hard that I could pass out.
He raises up and snatches my hand out of the air.
No, he’s not. He grins as if to say, Oh, yes, I am.
He draws my finger into his mouth, his lips wrapping around it tightly. I hiss a breath, my knees wobbling as his eyes flash in wicked amusement.
“Ooh.” I half mumble, half moan as he releases it.
“I wanted a taste before I bury my face in your pussy tonight and eat the shit out of you.”
“Brooks …”
His cheekiness is another dose of gasoline on an already smoking ember. My core aches, begging for him to make me come. I’m trembling without being touched. I can’t imagine what it will finally feel like to lose myself completely with him. On him.
“Turn around for me,” he says, the words not a request. But I don’t even care. More importantly, I don’t question it. I’m riding a high that I never knew existed—experiencing a power that could get me in trouble.
A confidence.
I step back, forgetting all about the scar on my hip that I hate so much. He devours me with his eyes. I’m pinned in place, not for an appraisal, but for an appreciation. And, oh, how those are different.
Slowly, I turn. The weight of his attention traces every movement. I feel him taking me in, piece by piece, deliciously and deliberately. Once my back is to him, he hisses, sucking in a breath so hard that I swear it scrapes my skin. It’s heady and intoxicating, and the best feeling in the world.
I arch my back, popping my behind out for him since he seems to enjoy the view. The chair crackles behind me, the sound breaking the air. Gathering my hair, I hold it on top of my head, standing on my tiptoes to elongate my legs, and pivot another few degrees.
“And she says she doesn’t flirt,” he says, chuckling to himself. “I can’t decide if you’re a ticket to hell or a fucking angel.”