Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
He claws my hip in retaliation, though we’re too far gone to remember anything except the need to keep it down.
I’m going to come faster and harder than I have in my life.
“Too fucking good,” he grinds out.
“So good.” I hold on tighter.
“You’re going to break for me, duchess.”
“Yes.” I don’t have another word to tell him how much I want that. I want everything right now and it’s terrifying. “Please, Kane. Please!”
“That’s right, baby.” He sounds disembodied, more animal than man.
We’re that mindless, getting high off the other, lost in the sensation, overwhelmingly sinful and desperate.
He’s desperate, too, I can feel it.
The heat gathers, my orgasm pulling tight.
“Quiet,” he warns, shifting us so his hand is over my mouth as he picks up speed.
A good thing too, or I wouldn’t be able to hold in my cries.
My eyes roll back as the wave crests, picks me up, and hurls me down again like a giant chucking a stone.
To call it an approaching orgasm would be an insult.
This is unlike any sex I’ve ever had.
On the edge, sharp, needy in a way that kills me.
“I’m going to—” I don’t have time to finish before it hits full force.
Coming!
The wave sweeps in, blasting my entire being, making me one with the current.
I shudder against him as I convulse, my loud moans stifled against his palm as he fucks me through it, his eyes sharp as he admires me.
And he slows, tender again, just enough for me to recover right before he picks up the devil’s speed.
I hold on, fingers white and nails digging into his skin, staring down at his cock pounding me, and then his face, jagged with strain.
His mouth splits open and his face screws up in a silent, strangled roar.
Just before he finishes, his eyes flick to mine.
Perfect green, alive and primal.
Then he’s a mountain falling down.
His jaw clenches so he doesn’t make a sound, and he’s so deep inside me I can feel his throb, his heartbeat, his unforgiving heat.
Ohhh, shit.
The flood.
The magma flow.
The eruption, his seed all lava as it overflows my pussy and runs out between us.
His grip bruises my hip, trying to draw me closer, though there’s nowhere to go with him bottomed out as he empties his balls deep inside me.
I wrap my arms around him and hold on tight.
“Fuck,” he says hoarsely.
An entire universe in one gravel word.
I press my face against his chest.
He smells like cologne and Kane and forbidden sex.
I think I’m still trembling.
His hand brushes my hair. “You good?”
“I… I think so.”
He tilts my head back so he can kiss me. “We should clean up. Hurry.”
“You mean before we have company?”
“I mean your bags, duchess. I really don’t want them to see them. I’ll take them up while you fix yourself.” He kisses me again, slowly and thoroughly.
Just like that, it’s decided.
I’ll stay because I can’t imagine doing anything else.
“Can you walk to the shower?”
“Y-yeah. I just need a minute,” I say, half laughing.
“No time.”
The next thing I know, he’s pulled out, thrown his shorts on, and he’s shuttling me upstairs in his arms. I laugh against his chest.
“I’ll go back for the bags in a minute,” he tells me quietly. “I don’t want you going anywhere. We still need to talk.”
“I won’t.”
He puts me gently down in the bathroom.
He brushes my hair back from my face with a tenderness that’s not exactly new but still makes my chest ache. Even though he told me what he wants, I know he’ll respect my decision.
If, after he tells me everything, I still want to leave, he’ll let me go. No question.
This morning, after crying half the night, I thought for sure I had to leave. I thought it was my only real adult decision.
Now, in his arms, I can’t escape the glaring fact that it’s the last thing I want.
Cutting him short just means hacking up our hearts, and if they’re going to hurt, it should only happen naturally.
The steamy shower chases away all the bad thoughts that followed me upstairs.
Kane joins me after pulling my luggage back up. He takes the bar of soap and washes me in a way that feels reverent.
“So, breakfast might be late today,” I say as he massages soap bubbles into my chest.
“Yeah,” he says. “Worth it, though.”
“Better hope the kids agree.”
“They’ll barely notice.” He brushes my wet hair back from my face and maneuvers himself so he’s standing under the blast. I take the soap from him and start rubbing it across his tan skin.
Broad shoulders, firm pecs, and ridges forming a six-pack. Or maybe it’s an eight-pack?
I count them as I go, letting my fingers trace his ridges and valleys.
Yeah, definitely eight bullets in this human gun.
I’ve hooked up with men who were built before, sure, but they spent half their lives in the gym.