Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“I'm counting on it.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen from our kissing, his chest heaving.
He looks wrecked. “There's no going back after this, lass.”
“I don't want to go back.” I pull him to me again. “I want you, Ashland. All of you.”
The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a growl.
All I needed was one night with my monster of a fiancé to see that Ashland has always told me nothing but the truth. “All I need is you. Maybe that's selfish. Maybe I—”
“No. Shh,” he whispers, one thick finger coming to my lips and silencing me.
“Not another word like that, lass. Not another word. Do you understand me, Bianca?” I nod and give him exactly what he needs.
“I'm done running. I'm done chasing other people to get an ounce of attention. I want what you have to give me, Ashland. Make me yours.” He undresses me slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping something sacred.
He reaches the bottom of the tee and lifts it up. “Fuck,” he breathes out, panting, his hands shaking.
I'm nervous. My hands cover his, and I slow the trembling. “It's alright. Let's do it together,” I whisper.
My fingers meet his, and we lift the fabric together, baring me to him. “Christ, lass,” he growls. “How are you so perfect?” His voice trembles as he looks at me. And I know, down to my toes, that he likes what he sees.
His eyes widen when he touches my skin, the contrast stark—my softness against his scars, his tattoos. His rough hands on my soft, ivory skin. My hands on his—darker, rougher, calloused.
“I want to know the marks on you, Ashland. Every scar, every tattoo, every piece of what makes you… you.” He slides the top up further.
When he reveals another expanse of skin, he bends down and brushes his lips over it… as if worshipping me.
“Ashland…”
“Shh… I waited years for this. Let me take my time.”
His fingers find the hem of my shirt, which is up to my breasts. I nod, not trusting my voice, as he slowly peels it off. His knuckles drag against my stomach, and I shiver.
Goose bumps erupt across my skin. “Are you cold, lass?” he whispers, concerned. “Do you need me to—”
“No.” I grab his hands and place them directly on me again, and a corner of his lips quirks up, amused. He watches every reaction, catalogs every gasp, every tremor.
Cool air hits my skin. I'm wearing a simple white bra, nothing special or sexy, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like I'm wrapped in luxury. “My god, you're so fucking beautiful.”
His hand hovers over my stomach, not quite touching. “May I?”
My heart thunders. “Please.”
His palm flattens against my rib cage, and heat radiates from that one point of contact. His massive, scarred hand is so warm. He slides it up slowly, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast.
My back arches off the bed. I want him to touch me. I want him to touch me everywhere.
“Sensitive here,” he says, his accent thick. “Look at you, my beautiful girl. You're so responsive, aren't you?” I can't trust myself to speak right now, so I only nod. His smile is pure, unadulterated sin. “Good to know.”
He leans down and presses his mouth to my stomach, right above my navel, an open-mouthed kiss that's warm and wet, making my abs clench. I'm so sensitive there.
“Ashland, you can't—” He takes my wrists and pins them on either side of me. “Can't what?” he growls.
“Do you mean to tell me that you just told me to take you… that you've given me full permission, and now you're telling me what I can't do? What are you afraid of?”
“You know…” I say, gesturing to my curves. “I can't… I just… I don't—”
“I know how you feel about yourself,” he says roughly. “You've said it. But I want you to know something right now, Bianca.”
He tips my chin up so my eyes are directly focused on his. There's nothing but sincerity in his gaze when he says to me, “I will worship your body night and day until you see that you're worthy of a shrine. Do you understand me?”
I nod.
“Are you going to behave yourself, or do I need to warm you up with a spanking before I continue?”
I shiver. My pussy aches, and yeah, I… “I… I want that. But not—not now,” I whisper.
Just for the hell of it, he bends down, rolls me over, and gives me a good, hard slap on the arse that sends arousal straight to my core. “Good girl,” he growls.
“Now, let me worship you. Not another word or I'll give you a proper spanking. Do you understand me?” The heat in his gaze tells me he knows exactly how turned on I get with the threat.