Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
The view of her ass in the air, her pussy still glistening from her orgasm, nearly makes me explode right there and then.
"Fucking gorgeous."
My hands smooth over the curve of her ass, kneading gently. Leaning down, I place a kiss at the base of her spine, then trail my tongue lower, tasting her. The sound she makes is desperate, needy.
Gripping her hips, I line myself up and push back in. From this angle, I can go deeper, and she feels it—her ass to my hips, pushing back against me.
"Oh God—"
"Too much?"
"No! More. G-give me more."
Setting my hands on her hips, I pull her back onto my cock with each thrust, her ass hitting my hips, making me see stars.
"You're so perfect like this. Taking all of me. Such a good girl."
"River…"
"What, baby? Tell me what you need."
"Harder. I need it harder."
In a second, I stop being slow and gentle. My thrusts grow more forceful, the impact jolting her forward with each one. One hand slides up her back, then into her hair, gripping gently.
"Like this?"
"Yes. God, yes. Just like that."
Her arms start to shake with the effort of holding herself up, so I adjust immediately.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, I pull her up until her back presses against my chest. Still inside her, I palm one breast while my other hand slides down her stomach.
"You gonna come for me again?"
"I-I can't. I already did—"
"You can." My fingers find her clit, circling the taut button. "You will."
Her head falls back against my shoulder. "River—"
"That's it. Let me make you feel good."
Fucking up into her while my fingers work her clit and the other hand kneads her tit, every line of her is drawn tight like a wire stretched to its limit.
Her hips move instinctively, searching, chasing that rising wave.
My thrusts grow more erratic as my own orgasm builds. Her pussy clenches rhythmically around me, the tight heat nearly driving me insane. Nadine's whole body draws inward, coiling.
"So close," I growl into her ear. "I want to come with you and pump you full of my seed."
She comes first, crying out my name, her pussy clenching around me in waves. That does it. The feel of her coming undone triggers my own release. I drive in deep one final time and come hard, spilling inside her.
I bury my face against her shoulder as the last of the tension rips through me, my grip tightening reflexively at her hips. For a few seconds, there’s no thought, no control—just heat and the raw pulse of it rushing through my veins, my warm come spilling inside her.
"Fuck."
We stay like that, tangled, shaking. Her breaths come in uneven pulls beneath me. Mine answer them, just as wrecked.
When I can trust my arms again, I guide us down carefully, turning so she’s tucked against me. Her back presses to my chest, warm and damp, and I curl around her—arm sliding around her waist, palm flattening low on her stomach.
For long minutes, the only sound is our breathing gradually slowing. Eventually, I slip out of her and press a kiss to her bare shoulder, shifting so she can turn toward me.
Her hair falls across her cheek. I brush it back gently, tracing her jaw with my thumb. Her lips are swollen, her skin flushed, her eyes heavy but bright when they meet mine.
"You okay?"
She nods. "More than okay."
Nine years of wanting this woman. Nine years of imagining what it would be like.
Reality's better.
Her fingers trace patterns on my chest, dancing over old tattoos. "River? I love you."
The world slides to a stop around us, and I can barely breathe. "Nad."
"Too soon?"
"I've loved you for so long, so no." I cradle her face and plant a soft kiss on her mouth. "I love you too, with every fiber of my being."
===
EPILOGUE
NADINE
Five Years Later
The thing about being married to River James for real—not fake-married-for-a-weekend but actual, legally-binding-till-death-do-us-part married—is that he still makes my stomach flip when he walks into a room.
Five years. One toddler. Our own house. Joint tax returns. And the man still looks at me like I'm the only person in the world worth looking at.
It's disgusting, really … in the best possible way.
Right now, he's chopping vegetables for dinner with his sleeves pushed up past his elbows, tattoos on full display. The same arms that can lift an engine block somehow manage to dice bell peppers into perfectly uniform pieces. Meanwhile, I can barely cut bread in a straight line.
"Daddy! Daddy! Look!"
Our son, Nick, barrels into the kitchen, waving a drawing that appears to be either a fire-breathing dragon or an abstract representation of our mailbox. With River, it's impossible to tell which interpretation he'll choose.
Nick launches himself at River's legs, tiny hands gripping his jeans, feet scrabbling for purchase on his thighs.
"Up! Daddy, up!"
River scoops him into his arms without breaking stride, settling Nick on his hip.