Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
They make my vision spark.
The rhythm he sets is perfect, cruel, devastating: long, deep thrusts of his fingers, knuckles dragging against my walls, while his tongue never stops its relentless worship. The wet sounds fill the quiet room, slick and shameless, the obscene proof of how much I want this, how soaked I already am for him. Every nerve is alight, and my thighs tremble violently around his head. Muscles I didn’t know I had, clench and flutter around his fingers as he stretches me, fills me, owns me with every stroke. His free hand splays across my stomach, pinning me down when I start to writhe too hard, the pressure of his palm branding my skin, grounding me even as he pushes me higher.
I’m panting now, ragged little cries I can’t hold back, my back arching off the bed as the coil inside me winds impossibly tight. He feels it, knows exactly what he is doing to me, and doubles down. Tongue pressing flat and hard, fingers jamming faster and faster. The heel of his hand grinds against my clit in faultless sync.
The whole technique is ruthlessly perfect.
The orgasm slams into me like a tidal wave, sudden and all-consuming. My entire body bows, my spine lifting clear off the mattress as a raw, broken cry rips from my throat. The scream echoes off the high ceiling as pleasure detonates behind my eyelids in blinding bursts of white. It pulses through me in violent, endless waves. As my walls clamp down around his fingers again and again, as if milking him, I come apart. My thighs shake uncontrollably, as every muscle locks in exquisite, shattering release.
Even when he knows I’m done, he doesn’t stop, just gentles his mouth, lapping softly through the aftershocks, drawing it out until I’m gasping, slick and utterly spent, boneless against the tangled duvet, the taste of salt on my lips from where I’ve bitten them raw.
He raises his head, and his eyes are glittering like an animal’s. “Liar,” he whispers. “You’re a fucking liar, Juliet Redgrave.”
What the fuck! I wake up suddenly with a jolt.
The moonlight is now brighter, but the humid air is sticking to my flushed skin. I check myself, hand slipping between my legs under the covers, and God, I'm wet—soaked, the ache still throbbing, making me wonder what the hell is happening to me. The memory of his mouth between my legs still clings to me, my body betraying me even now, and my clit is still swollen, aching from the phantom touch of his illicit tongue. That was so damn real. It felt too vivid. Blake's touch seems to linger still. Heat floods my body as shame and confusion mix with unsatisfied longing.
God, why him? Why now, when I'm supposed to be playing a role, not unraveling?
Chapter Sixteen
JULIET
Iwake up bright and early, with the first hints of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains, turning the room into a hazy glow of pinks and golds.
It's been only one day here, but it feels like a week, every minute stretched taut with pretense and that unwelcome heat whenever I think of Blake. I'm exhausted already, bones-deep tired from the lies, and the longing, but moving might clear my head.
I stretch and feel the pull in my muscles. God, I really need to burn off this restless energy before it consumes me. I know there is an in-house gym in the basement that is supposed to be a state-of-the-art setup, equipped with a Peloton bike and everything one could possibly want.
I decide to head down to the gym. It will be best if I don’t stray too far from Carolyn’s routine from now on. Or I’ll end up making everybody suspicious.
Slipping into a pair of shorts from the closet and a Lycra cropped top in matching black that leaves my midriff bare, I leave my bedroom. It'll just be a quick workout to start with. I need to burn off that bacon sandwich from yesterday, a guilty indulgence after months of salads. Three months is a long time to pretend, and I can't afford to let the weight creep back.
I jog down the service stairs, the cool wood giving way to the carpeted basement hall, and the air down here is crisp from the AC. Carolyn wasn’t exaggerating. The gym is unreal, floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflecting the morning light. There are all kinds of machines, a whole bunch of weights stacked neatly on racks that gleam under the recessed LEDs.
I start with the stair master, climbing slowly at first, the machine's whir a steady rhythm under my feet, my breath coming deeper as I build speed. Sweat starts beading on my skin and trickling down my spine in lazy rivulets. The burn in my thighs actually feels good, a distraction from the ache that's lingered since that crazy dream. I hate to admit it, but my body is still humming with repressed need.