Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
With a growl, he picks up a discarded tie from the edge of the bed and ties my hands. Then he secures me to the headboard. He opens my thighs, and his thick fingers touch my freshly shaved mons. He rubs the mound with the heel of his hand. I widen my legs as my body arches invitingly for him. His fingers play with my clit, the wet folds of my sex. Gathering the slickness there, he puts his fingers in my mouth and instructs me to suck. I obey and taste myself. Those same fingers move down to torment my breasts and twist at my nipples, drawing moans of pain and pleasure from me.
Finally, his fingers enter me roughly.
My mind goes white hot with heat. He manipulates me manually to a roaring climax. All I can do is tremble and squirt helplessly while he calls me a good girl. Then his fingers are inside my folds once more, wet, hot, slick.
Again and again, he makes me climax.
He is relentless for what seems like hours, until I can take no more. I want to beg him to stop because my clit has become too swollen and sensitive, but then I wouldn’t be a good girl, would I? I wanted this.
That is the moment when he places his raging, swollen cock into my mouth. Not just the tip, not just what fits in my mouth, but the whole thing. The tip enters my throat and my nose brushes his pelvis. He thrusts fully in and out of my mouth and throat while praising me. What a wonderfully naughty girl I am being for him. All the time his eyes watch me. Hungry, greedy. And something else. Something utterly alien to me. Possessively. As if I am his toy and his only.
Finally, with his scrotum resting against my chin, he buries himself deep in my mouth. He holds himself there while he climaxes, throbbing and pulsing, his rigid meat flexing deep in my throat as he deposits rope after rope of hot, sticky seed directly into my waiting, willing belly. His fingers find my sex again and push into it. I think of myself bound, tied, secured to the headboard, submitting, and in service to him, and my mind goes blank with excitement.
I cry out. My chest heaves, and my hips begin to rock as another orgasm tears through me.
He unties, and me kisses me like I’m something precious. There is still a fire burning within me for him, but his treatment of me is almost reverent. It wasn’t sex we just had. It feels like the blending of two entities, two souls.
We lie tangled in the sheets, the window open to let the sea breezes in. My head rests on his chest, and his heart beats a steady rhythm beneath my ear. I trace circles on his skin with one finger, unable to stop smiling.
Times Square was dazzling, overwhelming, unforgettable. But this, this explosive sex and this warmth, this closeness is what I will remember until the day I die. Because it isn’t about the lights, or the city, or even the ridiculous engagement story we’ve been weaving. It’s about us. And for the first time, I let myself admit it fully that I’ve fallen for Rhett.
I close my eyes, letting sleep pull me under, still wrapped in him, in us, in the certainty that something has shifted tonight, and that nothing will ever be the same again.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Pippa
It is the day of the Hawthorn wedding, and I am a mixture of excitement and nervous energy as Rhett’s chauffeur drives us to the venue. The Hawthorns’ Hamptons estate is only a short drive away. We could have walked if we wanted to. It looks like something out of a dream as the car rolls up the double driveway. Manicured hedges frame the path. Here and there are dotted topiary sculpted into swirls and shapes that almost look too perfect to be real.
Beyond the flawlessly green lawn, a white tent the size of an airplane hangar gleams in the late afternoon sun, its peaks tipped with gold finials. The ocean glitters in the distance, a silver sheet stretching endlessly beyond the cliffs.
Even from the car window, I can tell that this isn’t just a wedding. This is the wedding of the year. And this estate is just something else. It makes Rhett’s beachfront mansion look like a shed in comparison. God, what would these people think if they saw my tiny apartment? They would probably die on the spot.
“Wow,” I murmur, peering out of the window as uniformed attendants wave cars into a valet loop. Men in tuxedos and women in various colored gowns drift up the steps of the Hawthorn estate, their jewels flashing, their champagne flutes already in their hands.
Rhett smiles. “Oh, just wait. You haven’t seen the inside yet.”