Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Decided we were in love. While at a sex resort.
“Got serious,” Matt finished, and I knew we’d been on the same perilous wavelength.
“Well, for god’s sake, don’t make a scene.” Catherine put her soup spoon down. “This is our mother’s birthday weekend. Not a venue for another of your tired romantic dramas.”
Okay, I’ll be asking about that later…
“I should have asked before I invited him,” Elizabeth said with a sigh.
“Maybe that would be a good policy to implement in the future.” Matt tugged at the slightly open collar of his shirt.
“Not to change the subject too abruptly,” Briony spoke up. “But I would like to circle back to the bear attack. What was that like, Uncle Matthew?”
Not as scary as the prospect of seeing my brother tomorrow, that was for sure.
* * * *
“Well, this is a shit show,” I said as Matt closed the bedroom door behind us. I hadn’t trusted myself to speak until I knew we were totally alone and would remain unheard. Also, until I was sure I could talk about it without crying. And I couldn’t look at him. I stalked to the sofa and used the back of it for balance as I took off my strappy heels.
Matt put a calming hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. What awful scenario are you picturing?”
I tossed up my hands. “I don’t know. I keep having visions of a heated conversation that ends with him throwing you across a table and upending a punch bowl.”
Matt found my zipper and tugged it down. “Scott and I are grown men. We don’t settle things with our fists. Anymore.”
I didn’t ask for further explanation on that one.
“Let me guess,” Matt went on, peeling my dress down my arms. “You’ve never had a relationship with a grown man.”
“Does a brief fuck-buddy relationship with a thirty-year-old count?” That wasn’t exactly a relationship. Matt knew that my dating history, the actual dating part, was amateur in the extreme.
“Was the thirty-year-old the type of guy who would wreck a garden party?”
“He once kicked a shopping cart for rolling into his car,” I admitted.
“Well, as someone who’s never done that, I think you should trust me when I say that no punch bowl–related tragedies will occur tomorrow.” He kissed my neck. “And you should also trust me when I say that I know what’s good for you.”
The dress whispered down my body to pool on the floor.
“And right now, I think what’s good for you…” He unhooked my bra and let that fall away too. “Would be getting bent over and railed from behind.”
His palms tickled as they skimmed down my thighs, and I giggled. “I thought you were going to pin me down.”
His breath teased my ear. “What gave you the impression that we’re only doing this once tonight?”
Faster than I could respond, his hand was on my neck, and he forced me firmly down over the back of the couch.
I heard his zipper.
“Get those panties off or I’ll tear them off,” he ordered sternly.
I hesitated for a split second to decide whether to let him, then came down on the side of saving the panties.
My dragon wouldn’t hesitate to rip my clothes off.
“I hope you’re ready.”
I was quickly becoming ready, but I wasn’t quite there when he spit on his hand, dragged his palm over my folds, and forced himself inside. That seemed to be the point; my sharp gasp of discomfort made him chuckle.
“You’re getting there,” he groaned, slowly withdrawing. “Use your hand.”
My knees trembled. I fumbled my hand between us and encountered dry flesh, so I wetted my finger with my tongue and tried again. The desire he’d already kindled with his rough play ignited, my fingertip the match to the powder. I rolled over my hood, teased the hard stalk of my clit, never resorting to the familiar touches I would use during solo time.
If my dragon planned to make this last, so would I.
“That’s it. Good girl.” He took a deep, hissing breath. “You know how to get wet for me.”
“You know how to get me wet.” Rough sex, for example. But often, it just took his filthy talk to make me achy and slick.
“I want to play a game. Are you up for that, princess?” he asked, reaching beneath me to cup my tits.
“Always, my dragon.” Shockingly, that was true. It wouldn’t matter when or how he wanted me. I would let him take me.
“You get five strokes. Five, like this.” He pulled out so painfully slowly that he might as well not have been moving at all. “You’re only allowed to come during those five strokes.” When only the very tip of him touched me, barely parting my labia, he pushed back in just as slowly, until he was lodged as deep as possible. All the while, his fingertips circled and pinched my nipples. “When those are finished, so are you. After those five, I’m going to fuck you so fast and hard, you’ll beg for mercy. Whether you come before that or not, no matter how close you might be, even if you’re teetering on the very edge, you’re not allowed to come until I decide I’m ready to be gentle again.