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)
I grunt, wrapping my free hand around her throat to bite her lip. "You're a fucking brat, aren't you?"
"No." She smiles at me. "But I work for Satan. Maybe he pisses me off sometimes, and revenge dreams are better than actual murder."
"You don't want to kill me."
She snorts loudly. "Please. I plot to murder, maim, or otherwise ruin your life at least three times an hour."
"You ruin me every time you smile."
Her lips part slightly, her eyes locked on mine, as if she's unsure if I'm being honest or not. I don't like that. I don't like that she doesn't know just how wild she makes me. It's my own damn fault that she doesn't know, but I still don't like it. It needs to be fixed. Immediately.
"I dream about you," I murmur, holding her gaze as my hand creeps higher up her thigh, my fingers barely ghosting across her smooth skin. "Every night, I'm inside you, ruining you for any other man. You sound so sweet in my dreams when you're moaning my name." I bury my face in her throat, nipping and sucking at her pale skin. "But they don't even do justice to the way you moaned it tonight. I want to hear it again."
"Bastian," she whispers, half moan, half plea.
My hand slips beneath her dress, my pinky skimming the seam of her soaked panties. "I want to hear you scream it until your voice breaks." I rake my teeth down the tendon in the side of her neck. "Christ, I want you so desperate, every little touch has you sobbing for me."
"Yes," she moans, her hands flexing on my shoulders as she inches her legs farther apart in invitation.
I need to feed her before I fuck her…but I'm just bastard enough to take that invitation anyway. I slip her panties aside, desperate to feel her juices coating my fingers again. I need her coming on me again. Now.
Her head falls back, a loud moan rolling from her lips as soon as I touch her swollen clit. But this time, touching her isn't enough. I need to see her. I need to taste her. I need her as raw and wild for me as I've been for her since she waltzed into my office the very first time.
I plant a hand against her shoulder, gently pressing her backward. She sprawls across the island like a wanton sacrifice, legs spread, dress around her hips, chest heaving. Fucking gorgeous.
"Fuck," I growl, my eyes locked on the drenched scrap of pink lace between her thick thighs. I hook my fingers into the sides, dragging it down her legs.
She plants one foot against the side of the island, giving herself a little leverage to lift her ass so I can pull it all the way down. The scrap dangles from the heel of her shoe like a Pop art homage to eroticism, all bright, unkempt, tantalizing perfection.
I wrap my fingers around one ankle, spreading her wide. Her cheeks flush as if she's embarrassed or shy, but she doesn't try to stop me. She just stares at me, her blue eyes brilliant and huge. So fucking sexy.
"I want to taste you."
I'll hear her whimper echoing in my dreams long after her taste fades. It's pure surrender, pure need. She's not disobedient and giving me hell now. No, she's long past that, too goddamn horny to fight.
I hook my foot around a stool, dragging it close. She shivers as it scrapes across the floor…and then shivers again when I lower myself onto it, my eyes still locked with hers.
"Since you didn't let me have my dinner, I'm going to feast on you," I murmur, hauling her to the edge of the island. Her round ass dangles over the edge, her pussy bare and spread wide for me. "And you're going to behave and let me."
"Bastian," she moans.
I dip my head, blowing across her sex.
Her nails dig into the back of my hand. She isn't trying to stop me, though. I think she's trying to root herself to reality before I rip it away. But I don't feel like playing nice or taking it easy on her, not right now. Not after three months of torture. Not after she showed up in that dress tonight, waving those curves like a red flag in front of a raging bull.
She didn't need the damn Spanx she poured herself into. The dress molds to every damn curve without them, setting my blood on fire.
I run my lips up the side of her thigh, willing myself not to come in my pants when I smell her. She's sweet, musky heaven, all tart berry and woman. And all of it is for me.
I sink my teeth into her inner thigh, earning another one of those whimpers I'll hear on my deathbed. Christ, what a way to go, with the sounds of her pleasure playing in my ears. With memories of her spread out like this playing through my mind. A motherfucker could die happy like that.