Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Right now, this matters. The look in his eyes matters. The way he groans and grinds his palm against his crotch matters. Part of me thinks I should hide myself from his gaze. That’s what a girl my size is supposed to do. Hide my body. Feel shame that I have stretch marks and rolls. That I’m too curvy, too thick. That my stomach isn’t flat, and my hips are too wide. That’s what we’re told we’re supposed to feel. Our bodies are supposed to embarrass us. We’re supposed to hide them away in shame. But I feel no shame. Not now. Not with him.
I let my legs fall open. I let him look at me.
The look in his eyes…God, that look. His eyes are twin flames of forest green, the desire in them scorching me. Burning me alive. He doesn’t like my body. He loves it. His tongue skates along his bottom lip as if he’s trying to taste me on them. He grinds his palm against his erection again.
“Touch your pussy, songbird. Let me watch.”
My hand shakes as I slide it down my body. I don’t obey at first. I tease him, running my hand everywhere except where he wants me to touch. I’m not sure why. Something inside guides me, whispering to me to make him wait. To make him crazy.
It doesn’t take long.
“Do it,” he snarls, fire snapping in his eyes.
He’s bossy and impatient. Greedy.
I slip my hand between my legs, parting my folds. I’m so wet it’s ridiculous. A loud moan tumbles from my lips as my finger circles my clit. I’ve barely even touched myself and I’m already on the verge of an orgasm. It’s never happened this fast before. I know that’s because of him. Because he’s here. Because he touched me. Because God help me, I love the thought of this man watching me. How many times have I thought about it? Slipped my hand into my panties and imagined him watching me from the shadows? Too many to count.
I don’t know why, but I tell him this.
“I’ve thought about this,” I whisper, spreading my legs wider. “About you watching me.” My thumb rolls over my clit, my back arching from the ottoman. “I’d touch myself at night and pretend you were in my room watching me.”
“Did you cry out for me, princess?” he asks, his gaze locked on my pussy.
“Yes.”
“Did you say my name when you came?”
“Yes,” I moan.
“Did you pretend it was my hand working between your legs, Raven? That it was me touching your perfect little cunt?” he asks.
“Yes,” I sob. “Every night, I pretended it was you. I wanted it to be you!”
He snaps like a guitar string pulled too tightly. A loud roar leaves his lips and then he’s on me. The ottoman scoots across the hardwood floor as he lands between my legs, his mouth against my pussy. He yanks me toward him, pulling my hand out of his way at the same time. I lose the ability to function then.
He eats me like a man pushed too far, one taunted with treats and then told they aren’t for him. No one tells Rhys no. He takes what he wants, drinking me down his throat and then coming back for more. Again and again.
I cry out his name as the orgasm rips through me so fast it knocks the breath out of me. An explosion detonates in my core and sets off a landslide in my veins. I melt into nothing and rise from the ashes reformed from pure pleasure. It’s too much. Way too much.
“No,” he growls when I try to wiggle out from beneath him. He grabs my hands in one of his, easily containing me. “I want one more, Raven. Give it to me.” He doesn’t even stop what he’s doing. He just issues his command between licks, growling it against my pussy.
“I…I…” I try to tell him that I can’t, except I quickly discover I can. I am. The second orgasm builds faster than the first, hotter and more intense. It’s going to wreck me. I already know it is. And yet I want it anyway.
He buries his face deeper, working his tongue into my opening. I sob his name as he fucks me with it, thrusting it as deep as he can get it. His filthy sounds fill the living room in a hedonistic, carnal song of gluttony. Mine sings in harmony.
I break wide open for him, convulsing as my orgasm splits me asunder. It flings me around like a buoy in the water just outside the windows, leaving me limp and gasping for breath. He pulls back covered in my juices. They practically drip down his chest.
He doesn’t bother taking his pants off. I don’t think he can. He rips through the button and zipper in record time, breathing like he just ran a race. His eyes never leave my body. Mine never leave him. Not even as aftershocks wrack my body.