Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I could easily come down her throat, but I’d rather slam my cock deep inside her sweet pussy instead. I graze a thumb down her cheek. “You’re doing such a good job sucking me off, baby. But I need inside you. I need to watch your pussy take my dick.”
I help her stand. “Lean over the arm of the couch. Face fucking down.”
She does as I command, and her obedience turns me on even more. I’m so fucking close.
I’m like a raving lunatic, with pussy being my entire focal point as I move behind Charlotte. I want to slam my cock so deep inside her, but I remember how tight she felt when I stuck my finger inside her. The thought of going slow nearly slays me, but I don’t want to hurt her.
She glances over her shoulder. “You look like you’re really thinking back there.”
I smile. “You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you raw right here and now.”
She gives me a knowing smile. “Then do it.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m not as fragile as I look. Fuck me, Asher, please. As hard as you can. As rough as you want to go.”
With one hand I slap her ass, with the other I hold onto the rope binding her wrists. “You asked for it,” I tell her, slamming my cock deep inside her with one punishing stroke.
She moans out long and hard as I bury myself to the hilt. I give her a few seconds to acclimate to my size before I start thrusting back and forth. “Oh, Asher,” she groans.
“You wanted this, Charlotte. So fucking take it,” I tell her, slamming my dick deeper inside her. I keep fucking, making sure she knows exactly who she belongs to. My heart’s a jackhammer, as my body’s on fire with need. “This is what you asked for.”
She moans and groans, her body desperately trying to keep up. I nearly black out as I keep pounding away inside her. “Asher, I love this,” she moans out. “Keep fucking me.”
I slam even harder, my free hand reaching around to toy with her clit. I’m not gentle in the way I play with it. Not even a little bit. I pulse my finger in time with each stroke of my cock. “I’m going to fill your body with my seed, and then I’m gonna fuck you even harder. Don’t think for one second this is gonna be our only time tonight. I’m going to have you begging for surrender.”
“Never,” she challenges. “I’ll never want you to stop.”
“Promise?” I could fuck this woman for the rest of my life. Part of me wants to. Actually all of me wants to. This woman has now ruined me for others.
“I promise. Keep fucking me, Asher. Fuck me all night.”
I untie her wrists, sliding out of her long enough to flip her around. She clings onto me, her fingernails digging into my shoulders. I lift one leg over my hip, and slam back inside her. I gaze into her eyes, my mouth crushing over hers. I slide my tongue over hers, letting our kiss bind us together.
“You’re fucking mine, got that?” I tell her. “This is a demand. You’re mine.” I keep pushing my cock in and out of her, over and over. I squeeze her ass as my other hand wraps around the base of her throat. “Tell me you’re mine, Charlotte.”
Her eyes slam into mine, her promise holding true. “I’m yours.”
“You’re damn right you are. I own this body. This sweet fucking pussy.” I keep slamming into her, letting her know exactly who she belongs to.
“I’m coming,” she calls out, and I chase her orgasm down with my own. My body doesn’t stop spilling my seed deep inside her.
Fuck, what has she done to me? It’s never been like this before. Ever.
The resort’s ballroom looks like something ripped from a glossy benefit-gala spread: crystal chandeliers dripping light, linen-draped cocktail rounds, a silent-auction table glittering with bid sheets and golf getaways. The charity du jour is a children’s literacy fund, but everyone here is more interested in social optics than storybooks. I post up at the end of the bar—club soda in hand, eyes on the elevator bank—scanning reflections in polished silver trays, noting exits, cataloging faces I don’t recognize.
Charlotte’s still upstairs dressing. Thirty minutes ago she shooed me out with the promise of a “showstopper.” Whatever that means, it’s derailed my focus all evening. I force my gaze across the crowd: Nancy Sinclair preening near the stage, Wade prowling the perimeter like a wolf in a bespoke suit, and a half-dozen potential hired guns in rented tuxedos.
Elevator bell. Doors part.
My pulse forgets how to beat.
Charlotte steps out in a floor-length scarlet gown that skims every curve before spilling into a subtle mermaid flare. The color is audacious against her pale skin; the neckline, a daring slash bracketed by collarbones. Her hair’s swept to one side as soft waves tumble over one shoulder, exposing the elegant slope of her neck. Tiny diamond droplets glint at her ears. She’s not merely dressed; she’s weaponized.