Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Her head fell back with a thud. “You bastard.”
He grinned against tender flesh. “Say it again.” Then he latched on—mouth hot, tongue firm, sucking her clit like he meant to leave a mark.
She lost it.
The orgasm hit fast and mean, yanking her under before she had a chance to brace. Her thighs trembled and tried to clamp around his head, but he held her still. Her hips bucked, wild and unforgiving, not caring that she probably caused bruises on her butt. She couldn’t get a breath in and just gasped as a noise tore out of her throat, rough and real and helpless.
Her back arched. Then she fell flat against the bar, one arm flailing out for balance she didn’t have, the other gripping his hair like a lifeline.
And still, he didn’t stop.
“Christian.” It came out wrecked. Barely a whisper.
He held her there, mouth dragging every last aftershock out of her, lips relentless, tongue merciless. It was too much. Way too much. Her muscles spasmed again, her legs twitching, and all she could do was take it. Shake through it. Pray he’d stop before she blacked out.
When he finally pulled back, her body was drenched, twitching, useless.
Christian rose slowly, licking his bottom lip like he’d just finished dessert and was considering seconds. One strong hand banded across the front of her throat and pulled her into a seated position.
Her hair flew around her face and sparks spiraled throughout her abdomen.
He stepped back, his gaze on fire, and slowly removed his belt.
Chapter 29
The belt hit the floor with a hard metallic clink.
He was past restraint now. Way past patience.
But when he looked at her, spread out on the bar, thighs still trembling, hair wild, eyes dazed like she couldn’t remember her own name, something inside him shifted.
Possessive didn’t cover it.
She was half-dressed. Nothing below the waist. Her upper half stole his breath with her torn bra and open flannel clinging to her skin. One sleeve had slipped off her shoulder, revealing a fresh mark he'd left there earlier. She looked ruined and radiant. Her lips were parted, eyes dark and glassy, her chest rising and falling too fast.
She looked like surrender and defiance wrapped in fire.
His hands curled into fists for a second. Not because he was angry. Because it was too much. Because she undid something in him, and he didn’t know how to survive it without sinking his body into hers.
He stepped in before she could slide off the bar and lifted her, closing his arms around her back and under her thighs.
She gasped, her fingers gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. “Christian—”
“I’ve got you.” His voice sounded raw. “Always.”
She didn’t question it. Didn’t try to fight as he carried her deeper into the tavern. Her body settled into his without hesitation, her cheek brushing against his chest.
The wooden floor creaked loudly from his heavy boots, and his senses stayed sharp. He was aware of everything—the faint creak of the rafters, the wind cutting through broken panes, the settling pop of old wood. The danger hadn’t passed. It had just taken a step back to let him forget, for one minute, what they were walking through.
But he wouldn’t forget.
He shifted her in his arms as he neared the heavy table in the far corner. It was scarred and old, gouges along the top, bolted to the floor. Solid. A survivor. It would hold.
He lowered her gently, giving her a second to find her balance. She was unsteady but didn’t fall. Her hands gripped the table edge, her head bowed, breath coming in shallow gasps from her first orgasm of the night.
He wasn’t finished.
He turned her and bent her forward, over the table, with both hands on her hips. Her palms flattened against the wood. Her back arched. That beautiful ass rose into view, bare and flushed. Her legs parted slightly, already inviting him in again.
He stared for a moment. Memorized every inch of her like he wouldn’t get another chance. The flannel had bunched up at her waist. The torn bra had mostly fallen off. She was laid out for him, vulnerable but not weak. Never weak.
He shoved the flannel out of the way and reached down, sliding his hand along her spine as she let out a shaky breath. “Mine,” he muttered.
She turned her head slightly and looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were heavy, still dazed, but focused on him like there was no one else in the world.
“Say it,” he growled.
“Yours,” she whispered, her voice cracked and certain.
That was all he needed.
He gripped her hips, angled himself, and slammed into her in one hard, deep thrust.
She moaned his name, her voice catching, her head falling forward. Her hair spilled across the table in a mess of silk.
The sound she made landed deep in his chest. Not just arousal. Something stronger. Something that dug under his ribs and stayed there.