Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
But I can’t fully consider what I want, not when he dips his face to my jawline, kissing me there—an unhurried tease of his lips across my skin—as he whispers, “Whatever you want. Whatever you need.”
My head swims with too many ideas. “I don’t know where to start.”
He chuckles as his mouth meets mine once more, then leaves a trail of kisses across my jawline before he stops, holds my face in his big hands, and says, “Remember—you are the deal. And it’s a big deal.” It’s a callback to the Night of 1001 Confessions, when he told me my pleasure was the deal. The point of it all—of sex. This feels like a promise renewed that he’d make it happen. I nod urgently and he keeps going. “But I don’t want to assume you want the same things you asked for in June. I need you…to tell me how you picture me making you come when you’re alone at night.”
I gasp from the boldness of the statement. The sheer accurateness of it too. “How do you know I do that?”
“Educated guess,” he muses, then meets my gaze again. “Plus, you did tell me that night. Your exact words were—My solo time? I’ve enjoyed that. And I’ve spent a lot of it picturing all the things I want. So many things.”
Holy shit. He’s quoting me back to me. I shiver.
He drops a scorching kiss to my mouth, claiming my lips with a possessiveness that sends pleasure rocketing through my whole body, straight to my core.
But he wrenches back, asking again, “So, what’ll it be?”
That’s the million-dollar question.
What do I want from this man now that this is happening?
Images flash through my mind. Desires. Wishes. Positions. Role-play. Games. I’m not sure where to start, but since we’re being honest, I start with that.
“I don’t know. I just want it all,” I admit, feeling too ravenous to know where to start at the Tyler sex buffet.
He dips his face to mine once more, tugging on my lower lip with his teeth, then letting go. “Want me to find out what you want?”
“Yes,” I say, trembling, gasping.
After sliding a thumb down my jawline to the corner of my mouth, he presses, parting my lips for him. And I gasp.
My breath stutters. But he doesn’t rush. He just watches my lips fall open around his thumb. Like he’s testing me. Like he wants to see if I’ll beg.
I don’t.
Not yet.
I might not have much experience, but I’m good at listening to my body. Knowing what it needs and wants. Right now, my body says it wants to be wound higher. I want him to push me, to make everything feel excruciatingly good.
“Tell me more,” he urges, coaxing my mouth open, pushing his thumb inside. “Like, does this feel good?”
I had no idea this would be such a turn-on. I wriggle against him, then nod. “Yes,” I say around his thumb. He slides it farther inside my mouth, slow and seductive, a simulation of how he wants to fuck me.
A promise of later.
Controlling. Purposeful. A man who knows how to use all his equipment.
He lets his thumb fall from my mouth and runs it down my throat, over my chest, before sliding that hand up and inside my shirt, against my skin, toward my tits. Then he squeezes—hard. “This? Does this feel good?”
I shudder, my mind flashing bright neon. “Yes,” I say, arching my back.
Tyler rumbles out a raspy, “Good.”
Threading his fingers into my hair, he tugs my head back, exposing my neck. More kisses, more touches, then more words as he says, “Tell me something.”
“Anything.” A flush races up my throat, impossibly warm.
“Do you picture coming on my face?”
The sound I make is animalistic. Like a cat in heat.
His smirk is satisfied. Too confident. As if he already knows what I do alone in the dark. And maybe that should embarrass me, but it doesn’t. It makes me reckless.
“You think I picture it?” I challenge, curling my fingers into his shoulders. I haven’t technically said yes. I’ve just groaned. “Or you just want me to say it?”
He leans his face closer to mine. “You don’t have to say it.”
I swallow past the heat surging everywhere in me. “Why?”
“Because I know it. I know you do because of the way you look at me,” he says, with a confidence that electrifies my body, my soul. “The way you’ve looked at me since that day here on your yoga mat when I was this close to burying my face between your pretty thighs. This close to tasting your sweetness. This close to learning if you’re as wet and hot and fucking delicious as I imagine you are right now.”
I’m wetter. Hotter. Greedier.
Electricity crackles in me as I grind right back against his cock. He’s right. I don’t have to say I picture that. Because he clearly knows it. But still, I ask, “Can you feel me right now? How much I want it?”