Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
He keeps stroking my clit until I'm trembling in his arms, so sensitive every touch feels like another mini-orgasm. It's too much and not nearly enough at the same time.
"Perfect," he croons in my ear, slowly slipping his hand from my panties. "So fucking perfect." His lips touch the curve of my jaw and then my cheek, his kiss as sweet as his praise, and I know I'm in serious trouble of handing this man my heart right alongside my body.
Chapter Four
Bastian
Constance is a mess of sprawled limbs and sweet satisfaction in the passenger seat beside me, cheeks flushed, creamy thighs still quivering, her scent wreaking havoc on my patience. We're five minutes from my house, and every goddamn second is a personal affront.
I'm definitely breaking the speed limit before she breaks me with her soft whimpers. Every single one has me in a chokehold.
Christ, I never knew it could be like this. I never imagined it would be like this. I've been waiting for her for an entire lifetime, but I still didn't think…
I'm not sure why I'm surprised by how desperate she's made me. She's been unraveling my restraint and my sanity piece by piece for the last three months. That tiny fuck-me dress was the tipping point. Feeling her gush around my fingers and moan my name was the final descent.
But as much as I want to fuck her like a ravaging beast until neither of us can walk, I won't do that. At least, not the first time. I will be a gentleman and take care of her first.
I pull the truck into the garage and kill the engine. "Wait for me," I order before climbing out. If she hears me, she doesn't respond. But she doesn't move either. She's still sprawled and basking when I pop open her door and lean in to remove her seatbelt.
She stirs as I lift her into my arms.
"I can walk." The protest is feeble, especially when she wraps her arms around my neck, burying her face in my throat. I feel the tip of her tongue against my overheated skin, and my grip tightens on her round ass.
"Behave," I growl, stomping toward the house.
Her soft laugh hits me right in the heart. Constance Maverick wouldn't know how to behave if her life depended on it. There's something poetic about that. I would fall for the one woman on the planet who breaks every goddamn rule she meets.
It's not like I'm complaining, though. Her spirit is one of the sexiest things about her. I don't want to change her. I want to worship at her feet.
She glances up as we step into my kitchen. Her eyes scan across the space, taking in the gleaming hardwood floor, chrome fixtures, and massive bay windows, and I can't help but wonder if she likes what she sees. When my dad and uncles helped me build this place, I never really understood who I was building it for or why. I just knew every detail had to be perfect.
"Wow," she whispers after a moment. "This is beautiful, Bastian." She peeks over at me, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. "And here I was, expecting a throne in hell or a lair."
I swat her ass before depositing her on top of the granite island. "Keep fucking with me, baby," I warn her. "You'll see just how hellish I can be."
"Oh, I'm well aware," she says dryly. "I put a dollar in a jar every time I think about stabbing you with my pen." Her smirk grows. "I'll be taking a fancy vacation very soon."
I step up between her parted legs, pressing my lips to her ear. "I haven't been inside you, making you beg to come, Constance. When I am, you'll know exactly what kind of bastard I can be for you."
She grips my arm, whimpering softly.
I nip her throat before stepping back. "Behave and let me feed you."
"I had that dream before." Mischief dances through her dilated eyes as they meet mine. "For the record, we weren't in your kitchen."
"You've been dreaming about me?"
"Maybe." She shrugs, flashing another taunting grin up at me. "I'll never tell."
"You will. I want to hear everything." I grip her thigh, my eyes boring into hers. "What have you been dreaming?"
"All kinds of things," she says, being as unspecific as possible just because she can't resist. She fucks with me like it's her job. Hell, maybe it is. God only knows what my cousins added to her job description to make my life more complicated. "There was this particularly memorable dream you'll love."
"Tell me," I growl, my fingers digging into her inner thigh, not hard enough to bruise, but just hard enough to make sure she knows I'm right there, hanging onto every word from her sinful lips.
Her tongue skates across the bottom one before she leans in, looping her arms around my shoulders. Her warm breath pelts the side of my neck and then the shell of my ear. "You were tied to a rock with wine poured all over you," she whispers in my ear. "The buzzards loved it, Bastian."