Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 41053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
“Security people are watching.” He lifts me a little higher and then his cock is there, easing into me. “You know how they like to gossip. By tomorrow everyone will know how needy you are for my cock, beautiful girl.”
I’m trying to breathe past the fullness that is him. I dig my fingers into his hair and tug his mouth up to mine. “Just like everyone in the lounge knows how needy you are to get your mouth all over my pussy.”
“Fuck yes I am.” He thrusts, picking up a relentless rhythm. “My favorite kind of punishment.”
I can’t concentrate enough to keep talking, can only whimper as he fucks me against the wall. Each stroke rubs his cock against that sweet spot inside me and his pelvis drags against my clit and, fuck, it’s so good I can barely stand it. “Keep doing that. Make me come again.”
“Greedy girl.” But he obeys, adjusting his angle so that he’s exactly where I need him. Again and again and again, until pressure spills over into pleasure and I can’t stop myself from coming all over his cock. I force my eyes open so I see the exact moment his own pleasure takes hold. He thrusts hard into me and growls my name as he orgasms.
A tinny voice sounds from the speaker next to the elevator buttons. “If you’re quite finished, release the elevator. We have guests waiting.”
Hook meets my gaze and we both burst into laughter. It feels just as good as the orgasms, a lightness settling in my chest that never seems to go away these days. He lets me off the wall and we take a few seconds to adjust our clothing. Every time our eyes catch, we dissolve into giggles again. Hook hits the button to get the elevator moving and I’m blushing like a teenager when we reach the garage and the doors open to reveal Malone and Ursa. Seeing these two together isn’t that odd—they’re friends, best I can tell—but they both give us long looks.
Malone shakes her head. “Newlyweds.”
“Cute and sickening, all at the same time.” Ursa steps back so we can move out of the way. “Belated congrats on your nuptials.”
“Thanks.” Hook manages to hold it together until we’re safely back in his SUV and pulling out of the garage. He tugs me as close as seatbelts will allow and presses a kiss to my temple.
I take his hand and lift it to run his knuckles along my cheek. “Is it weird that acting like a pair of horny teenagers makes me deliriously happy?”
“No. Not weird at all.” He looks more content than I’ve ever seen him, totally relaxed and at ease. “Neither of us had what you’d call normal teenage years. Might be fun to reclaim some of those experiences.” Hook shoots me a look. “Want to dress up like a cheerleader and let me seduce you under the bleachers?”
“Hell yes.” I’m already nodding. “But only if you wear a leather jacket and play the ultimate bad boy.”
Hook chuckles. “Someone’s harboring more fantasies.” He coasts his hand up my bare thigh. Not exactly to seduce; more like he just enjoys touching me as much as I enjoy being touched by him. “Whatever you want, beautiful girl. We have our whole lives to play out each and every fantasy in that sexy brain of yours.”
I lean up and brush my lips across his. “Let’s start tonight. I want you to tie me up again.”
He goes still. “You sure?”
I’ve never been more sure of anything. I don’t have to hide anymore. I love this man, and I want everything he has to give and more. “One hundred percent.” I smile. “I love you, husband.”
An expression of wonderment flickers over his face, as if he can’t quite believe we’re in this happy place any more than I can. “I love you too, wife.”
7
Rough Day
Tink
I barely look up at the bedroom door opens. It’s been a long day, but it’s not over yet, and I can’t afford to get distracted before I reach a good stopping point on this dress. “Give me thirty minutes. I’m almost done with this bit.”
“Don’t rush.”
The strange sound in Hook’s voice brings my head up. I freeze, barely managing to get my foot off the sewing machine pedal in time. He’s covered in blood. “Jameson?”
“Ah.” He looks down at his hands, his expression closed down tighter than I’ve ever seen it. “It’s not mine."
I carefully set the fabric down and rise, racking my brain for an explanation. Since Peter died, things have been smooth-enough sailing. I’m not naive enough to believe it will continue like that indefinitely, not when we live in the world we do, but I’d hoped for more than a few months. Apparently I am a bit naive despite my best efforts.