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 nod. “Yes, sir.”
His stubble scrapes against my skin, and the sensation shoots straight between my thighs.
“You smell so good. Vanilla. Something sweet.” He presses a kiss, then another just below my bra. “Like summer.”
My hands reach for his head and I hold him there, needing the contact and the reassurance of my man against me. He kisses across my ribs, then down, following the line of my hip. His hands work on my jeans, undo the button, and I lift my hips to help him slide them down.
“So eager,” he murmurs against my hip bone, his Irish accent thick. “My sweet, eager girl.” The denim drags down my legs, torturously slow.
When I'm in nothing but my bra and panties, he groans. “Perfect. You're fucking perfect.”
His hands run up my calves, my knees, my thighs. “Fucking hell, lass.” Every touch leaves a trail of fire because my skin is so sensitive.
Every nerve ending is screaming. I'm trembling, and he's barely touched me. He settles between my thighs, his broad shoulders forcing my legs apart.
It's obscene and intimate, and when his breath ghosts across my inner thigh, I nearly die. “Ashland, my god. What are you—”
“Shh,” he whispers and presses a kiss to my thigh. “Trust me. Are you alright?” His beautiful eyes meet mine. “Do you want me to stop?”
“I—yeah, I—” I swallow hard.
He reaches his left hand to mine and entwines our fingers, holding my hand. “Breathe, Bianca. Take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just like that. That’s my girl. Do you want me to stop?”
I shake my head. “No, no.”
“I'm treating you the way you deserve to be treated. Please,” he says quietly, his voice thick with need.
Then his mouth is on me—not where I'm aching for him, but close.
He kisses up my thigh, his tongue licking against my skin. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh, and I gasp, my hips bucking. He does the same to my other thigh, taking his time as if he's learning me.
“You're more beautiful than I even imagined. I can't—you smell like heaven. Like I couldn't even imagine what you'd taste like. I'm going to lose my fucking mind, lass.”
“It's okay,” I whisper because I don't know what else to say. I’m shaking.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties. “These too?”
I nod. I love that he’s asking for permission. He pulls them down, and I'm bare to him, completely exposed. My instincts scream to cover myself, but the look on his face stops me.
“Christ.” His hands shake as they run up my thighs. “Look at you.”
Then, somehow, I see myself through his eyes. Curvy, yes, but soft, pretty, feminine. Then I look at him.
He's still fully dressed. His jaw is clenched, as if he’s fighting for control, and there's a bulge straining against his jeans. His hands flex like he wants to grab and take.
He forces himself to slow down. “You're still dressed,” I manage.
“Aye.”
“That's not fair.”
His smile is dark and promising. “Life's not fair, lass. And I promise this will be a lot more exciting if there's a little bit of”—he shrugs—“imbalance here.”
He leans down and kisses my stomach again… then higher, between my breasts. His hands slide under me, and with practiced ease, he unhooks my bra, the last piece of fabric between us.
He peels it away slowly, and when my breasts are bare, his breath stutters. “Christ,” he whispers.
Then his mouth is on me, hot and wet and perfect. He takes my nipple between his lips and sucks. The pad of his tongue is rough and perfect and gentle. The sensation shoots straight to my clit.
I cry out, arching, and he pulls more of me into his mouth. His tongue circles and flicks and teases, and he palms my other breast, brushing over the peak of my nipple. I'm drowning in sensation. “So fucking eager,” he growls, his accent thick. “So fucking perfect for me.”
He switches sides and pays attention to the other breast.
His teeth graze my nipple, and I actually whimper. “Good girl. That's right, lass. Let me hear you.” His mouth moves lower. He kisses down my sternum, my stomach, my hip, as if he's mapping every inch of me, and when he reaches my thighs, he spreads them wider.
He looks up at me from between my legs, and it nearly undoes me. “Fuck,” he growls, his eyes dark with need. “You’re soaked.”
I should be mortified, but the way he says it, it's like he found treasure. “It's your fault,” I whisper.
He grins at me, and his whole face lights up. I want to make him do it again.
“Guilty as charged.” His thumb traces along my inner thigh, so close to where I'm aching, and then he bends, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. “Fucking hell… Holy Christ, lass.”
He tongues the inside of my thigh, and I shiver with want. “I want you desperate for me. So needy you can't think.”