Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
"Right here?" I ask anyway, my heart in my throat.
"Right here," he says, his eyes locked on mine in the dark. "Right now."
"If my brothers see my underwear on the internet, I'm moving to Aruba."
"No one sees your underwear but me," he growls, his tone nine kinds of possessive. "Now, lift your hips."
I gulp, using his body for leverage to lift my hips.
He doesn't look away from me once as he reaches for my panties, almost like he's daring me to put a stop to this. But stopping this is the last thing I want to do. I want him to touch me. I want him to shatter me.
He tugs them down as far as they'll go with me in this position before he helps shift me around, tugging them from one foot and then the other. I watch with wide eyes as he tucks them into his pocket.
"You aren't getting them back, butterfly."
"They aren't that bad," I whisper.
"Bad?" His intense gaze tangles with mine. "I didn't see a fucking second of the performance tonight. I was too busy thinking about those panties covering your pussy. I was busy imagining my handprint against your ass."
My core clenches, heat rushing through me. "Yes."
His lips quirk. "Yes?"
"Yes," I say again, not even sure what the heck I'm giving him permission to do. I just know that he said he wants to see his handprint in my skin, and now I want it. So freaking badly.
His lips quirk in that way that isn't quite a smile—those are rare from him—but close. "We'll get there." His hand drifts up my leg again. "Part your thighs, Hattie baby. Let me see what I'm eating."
"E-eating?" Oh, sweet Jesus.
"Yeah, eating." His hand creeps higher. "As in, licking you until you're screaming."
Part of me wants to remind him that we're in a parking lot at a fancy opera house. The other part just wants to get to the eating part right now. That part wins by so many miles it's laughable.
I shift on his lap, parting my thighs until I feel completely exposed. The only thing saving me from utter humiliation is the fact that it's dark. Well, that and the way he's looking at me like he wants to burn the vision as deep into his brain as it'll go. This right here is what it feels like to be desirable, to be wanted…to be irresistible.
Watch out, world, I'm unstoppable.
"Oh!" I jerk, my whole body trembling when he touches me, his fingers ghosting against my sex. My head falls back, my breath already a shaky pant.
"Keep your eyes on me, butterfly," he rasps. "I want to see you."
I try. Really, I do. I keep my eyes on him while he strokes my clit until I'm whimpering. But there is no watching him when he hauls me up, trying to drape my thighs around his head. There is, literally, no room to work with in this truck. My head bumps the roof and then the door.
He shifts and twists, grunting and cursing while reclining the seat, until he's back as far as he can go, his head basically in the backseat. He drags me up his body again, holding me steady.
"Sit," he growls.
"On your face? You'll die!"
"Then let me."
"That cannot be nor—"
He yanks me down.
"Sidney!" I shout, clutching at the roof. One of my knees is jammed against the side of the truck. The other slips off his shoulder, pitching me sideways.
He just grunts and hauls me back into place, his tongue already lapping at my clit. And Christ Almighty, I don't know how many people are left in that opera house, but they're all about to hear me. I'm going to hit notes that would make Italy proud.
"That's it," he snarls against my pussy. "Ride my face."
Is that what I'm doing? It feels more like I'm hanging on for dear life as he thrusts his tongue inside me, fucking me with it. His hands squeeze and knead my ass, spreading my cheeks in a way that should not feel so damn good.
Everything about this feels good.
"Sidney," I sob, clawing at everything I can reach.
His beard tickles my inner thighs. His breath is hot against my skin. His nose keeps grinding against my clit every time I rock against him. I can't stop rocking against him.
His fingers drift down the crevice of my ass, thrumming against my back entrance. He doesn't try to push inside, just adds a little pressure. Enough to light my whole body up.
I shout his name, coming in a powerful wave that won't relent. As soon as I think I'm done, he licks me again, or strokes me again, and sends me hurtling right back into another dimension.
I claw at his arms, at the door, my knees clamped around his head so tightly I'm convinced he's probably dead now. RIP, Sidney Hawkes. RIP, magical tongue.