Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
He pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against mine. “I want to do this right, Simone.”
I smile gently. “You mean, you want to ask my dad for permission? He’s gone, remember?”
He laughs, but there’s a catch in it. “No. I mean I want you to feel safe. Treasured. I gave you the wrong impression before.”
I blink, thrown by the word. “Treasured?”
He nods, his eyes almost shy. “Yeah. I’m not good at saying it, but I want you to feel like you’re the only thing that matters when we’re together.”
The words crash over me, and for a second, I can’t breathe. Nobody’s ever said anything like that to me. Not in a way that felt real.
“Okay,” I whisper, tasting the word like chocolate.
He kisses me again, and this time, I feel it everywhere.
“I already do feel treasured,” I say, when we break apart.
His hands are gentle, but there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s looking at me.
The air is thick with wanting.
He stands, takes my hand, and leads me upstairs, our footsteps light and slow, like we’re both afraid the spell might break if we hurry.
But there’s nothing fragile about this.
Not now.
Not ever.
The master bedroom is straight out of a magazine: dark wood, a California king with sheets that probably cost more than my car, a single huge photograph of some remote Scottish coast over the headboard. The room smells like Liam—cedar and something male and musky, like expensive gin—and for the first time in my life I feel small in a way that is not even a little bit bad.
He kisses me at the threshold, slow and searching. My dress is simple, but he takes time with the straps, the zipper, like he’s undoing a secret. When I step out of it, I’m naked except for the sheer blue panties I picked to match my mood. He runs his thumb along the waistband, deliberate, savoring the texture.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, and the words land lower than my stomach.
I undo the top two buttons on his shirt, but he lifts my chin. “Let me,” he says, voice deeper. He strips for me, slow, then pulls me into his chest. His body is absurd—broad, strong, built for protection or punishment, but never anything in between. I bury my face in his shoulder and inhale, wanting to crawl inside his bones.
He bends and lifts me like I’m made of nothing, deposits me in the middle of the bed. His mouth is everywhere at once: neck, collarbone, the point where my shoulder meets my throat. I arch into him, greedy, and he smiles against my skin.
There’s no rush this time, no frantic energy. Every move is purposeful. He teases my nipples with his tongue, then drags his hand down my belly, nails leaving little comet trails of sensation. He kisses just above my hip bone, then again lower, so that by the time he pulls down my panties I’m ready to beg.
He crawls between my thighs, spreading me wide, and blows a stream of cool air over my pussy. I’m already wet, embarrassingly so, and he seems delighted by it. “You’re such a good girl,” he whispers, like it’s a prayer. “So sweet and open for me. Do you have a hungry cunt, sweetheart? Let me taste.”
He goes down on me with single-minded intent, licking me with long, flat strokes, then circling my clit until I’m whimpering, hands clutching the sheets like I might fly off the bed. His tongue is hot and firm, and when he sucks on my clit, my whole body seizes with pleasure.
But Liam doesn’t let me finish. Instead, he slides a finger inside, then another, crooking them just so. I gasp, and whine a bit.
“Oooh, it’s too much,” I moan, twisting against his digits. “Your fingers are thick.”
“Shhh,” he hums. “You’re so tight, but I’m just stretching you out, baby,” he says. “I love how your vag grabs me.”
He adds a third finger, making me arch my back even more, and the pressure is intense but good. I squirm, half-laughing, half-crying, and he licks his lips before bending to kiss me, tongue still tasting of me.
He keeps finger-fucking me slow and deep, then, without warning, circles my anus with a slick, searching finger. I tense, but his mouth is right by my ear. “Shh, baby. You can take it. You want to, don’t you?”
I nod, breathless. I’ve never done this before, but the way he says it makes me want to.
He goes back to my pussy, fingers pistoning, but all the while, his other hand keeps gently pressing against my asshole, coaxing it open. There’s no pain, only an aching heat, and soon his fingertip slips inside my most taboo spot. I moan, loud, and he groans too, like the sound is his favorite flavor of music.
“You like it, don’t you?” he rasps. “You like having an older man’s finger deep in your ass. I can tell that you’re the type of hungry buttslut who’s going to require a buttfucking on a daily basis.”