Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
She gathers her hair in a pony, and blood pumps hotter through my veins. It’s not a cat-and-mouse game with Phoebe. We’re the same wrecked, venomous breed.
“You want me?” she taunts. “Come and get me.”
I stalk forward, and she steps back—but not fast enough. I catch her hips, and the inferno explodes in us—we crash together with hungry kisses. Her fingers dig into my biceps, and just as I pull Phoebe firmer against my muscles, she wrenches away and shuffles backward.
My pulse is in my ears, until I see her arousal and a daring, seductive look in her narrowed eyes. She’s roping me in, winding me around her, and I won’t lie—it’s driving me fucking mad.
I pursue her, crawling toward the unbalanced feeling that makes me feel alive.
“You won’t make it past the door,” I threaten, my glare matching hers.
“Watch me.” She whirls around to run, but she can’t even grab hold of the doorframe before I seize her around the waist, hauling her against me.
She’s a head shorter than me barefoot. I have a flexed arm around her breasts and another around her abdomen. Her back to my chest. My grip is so tight, she can’t wiggle out, even though she barely tries.
I whisper against her ear, “I’ll always find you. Wherever you go, I will hunt you down with my last fucking breath.” My love is as unrelenting as it is vicious. Phoebe can’t contain a whimpering moan.
I need inside her. I’m feeling more feral, as if I need to mark my territory so predators smell me on her and know I’ll maim and kill if they attempt to rip her from me. I practically carry her over to the wood-burning stove.
“You’re going to the floor,” I tell her as I bring her down with me.
“No, I’m not.” She hardly puts up a fight, wanting me. Wanting this. I’ve become rapidly aware that Phoebe is attracted to the fact that I will do anything to have her. That nothing will stop me, not even her verbal protests.
I crave seeing her succumb to her own overwhelming arousal. I crave being in total control of her body, her heart, her soul. Mine to protect. Mine to love.
Mine to fuck.
I’m knelt behind her, and I push her flat against the floorboards. My slacks are in a heap beside me, and while I dig a condom out, she tries to army crawl away.
I capture her ankle and slide her back.
“Rocky.” She tries to turn to face me, but I bend forward and use my weight and strength to easily force her chest onto the ground.
“Phoebe,” I growl in her ear as I tear her dress down her full breasts and to the curve of her hips. I snap off her lacy white bra. She is undeniably gorgeous. But I love so much more about Phoebe than her body. It’s just a vessel for what I really want to touch.
“You better hurry,” she snaps, her head raising toward the door like her brothers could walk in.
“You better not fucking rush me,” I retort, lifting her pink dress off her ass and slipping her mesh thong off her legs. With her dress still pooled at her hips and her round, perky ass in view, all I can think about is her pussy.
I slide two fingers inside Phoebe’s swollen, wet heat, and her high-pitched cry is a symphony in my ears. She’s beyond ready. I brush her clit, and her whole body vibrates against the floor. Christ.
I quickly sheathe my erection, and again, she attempts (poorly) to wiggle out from under me. I capture both her hands in mine and stretch her arms upward. Planting her palms on the floorboard, I hold them there. My muscled body envelops her soft frame, and I use my knees to spread her thighs open.
Her breath comes more ragged, faster, in anticipation, and I grind into Phoebe, penetrating her with my hard length. She chokes on a pleasured cry, and I grit my molars as she clenches around my cock. She is so tight. I flex my abs to keep myself on an edge. Melded with her, I thrust deeper, harder, in a systematic, mind-numbing pace that stokes friction and heat.
“You feel my cock burrowed in your cunt?” I hold her tighter as she shudders. “You’re not going anywhere,” I say roughly, thick arousal raking against my throat.
I have her. I rock deeper.
I fucking have her. Harder.
No one is taking her from me.
“Oh fuck,” she cries into the wood. Her body jerks forward with my thrusts, and then she tries to twist her head to see me. When she can’t get a good look, she tenses a little.
I slow, watching her carefully. Then I lower my mouth to her ear. “Let go. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She releases a breath, and her limbs slacken under me.