Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
He reaches up to undo the button, then the zipper on my jeans, slowly tugging it down tooth by tooth, like he’s enjoying the sound of it being opened. The look in his eyes—filthy delight—sends a shiver down my chest. I help him along, pushing the jeans down, letting the denim hit my ankles.
He helps me step out of them, then takes the jeans and folds them neatly, stretching out an arm and setting them on a nearby chair.
I nearly come from that—from the care.
“Now I’m really aroused,” I tease.
He returns to me, hands on my thighs. “That makes two of us.”
My smile vanishes as he presses his face against my center, dropping a quick, hot kiss to the outside of my panties.
A ragged breath escapes my lips. I reach for his hair, sliding my fingers through it as he moves his face lower, kissing the panel of my panties.
“So wet. Just like I said you’d be,” he murmurs.
“So cocky,” I toss back.
“And right,” he says, then flicks his tongue against the soaked fabric. “So fucking right.”
I try to protest, but what’s the point? I’m warm everywhere, my cells all shimmery as he teases me with his talented tongue. I give in, tugging him closer. “Take them off.”
He stops, wrenches away, then looks up at me. “You’re not watching though.”
My legs shake. “I was watching you.”
“In the mirror, Remy,” he says, stern and commanding. “Watch in the mirror. I want you to see how fucking sexy you are.”
My pulse beats between my thighs, where I ache. “I’ll try.”
He hooks his index finger in the top of my panties. “Good girl.”
The panties vanish in a flash. His hands roam up my thighs and he rubs his nose against me, drawing a deep inhale.
Sparks shoot through me, and I want to close my eyes, but I obey, watching in the mirror as this big, strong man kisses my wet center.
“Oh god,” I murmur.
He grips me harder, clearly liking that sound. “Mmm. You taste so fucking good,” he says, then flicks his tongue down me and back up.
I gasp, grabbing at his hair. My eyes float closed for a second, but then he stops.
“Follow the plan, Remy,” he instructs and damn him. Damn him for using me against me.
I open them, and he’s flashing that evil grin.
“Don’t deviate then,” I say.
“I won’t.” He dives back in, and I…stare, giving in to the voyeurism plan.
Or is it self-voyeurism?
I don’t even know, but it’s surreal to watch his head bobbing up and down, to witness him burying his face between my legs, to see my own reaction.
Lips parted, breasts heaving, fingers roped in his hair.
My nipples harden, visible through my sweater, and that’s new too—seeing the evidence in real time of my response.
He licks faster, sucks harder, rubs his beard against my thighs, and…yes. The roughness of his stubble, the softness of his lips, the focus of his tongue.
I breathe out hard, swallow, then moan again. All for me to witness. And I don’t look like the woman who likes to be in control, to plan and to prepare and to organize. I never thought I’d look that way as I was driven wild by pleasure, sure, but a thrill shoots through me at my reflection. I look…wild. Beautiful.
Then, he kisses me more deeply, and I wobble. Grabbing his shoulders, I dig in, trying to hold on.
That stops him. And in no time, he’s rising, scooping me up and carrying me to the edge of the bed.
“Sit. Spread your legs for me.”
My butt hits the mattress. I part my thighs.
He crosses his arms. “Wider. And use your hands. Spread them open for me.”
Nerves spark inside me, but so does heat. This is the in-control Lake. The man in charge. The man willing to wait for it.
And for me.
I slide my hands down, spread my legs open.
“Oh, fuck. Look at you. Fucking look at you.” He drops down to his knees again, then devours me.
There’s no other word for it.
He’s fucking me with his mouth, his tongue, his lips, even his beard it seems. He’s eating me up like I’m the last thing he’s ever going to have.
Like I’m the only thing he wants to have.
And I’m grabbing his skull, digging my nails in, yanking him closer.
And…watching. I’m staring at us, as I take and he gives, and soon I lose control.
Soon, the pull of pleasure becomes too much.
It tips me over, and I’m coming apart on his mouth. He moans through it, loud, hungry sounds like a man feasting, like a man licking every last drop from his fingers, a man savoring the taste.
When I come down from my high, he’s standing again, ripping off his shirt, toeing off his shoes, then undoing his jeans.
And I want his nudity, more than anything, but I also want…this.