Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
A vein pulses in his neck. “I am.”
I picture yesterday in the front seat of the truck. How he held me. “Do you want me to…” This shouldn’t be hard to say, and truly, it’s not. But I’m taking my time since I’m loving his reaction. The anticipation in his irises. The quiet gust of his breath. The rise and fall of his chest. My gaze drifts up toward the slats of the headboard. “…Hold on to the headboard?”
His eyes darken and he licks his lips. But he’s quiet for a beat, like the thought is almost too much to bear. Like he needs time to process. Or maybe not too much time, since a second later, one word flies out of his mouth. “Yes.”
“Great. That’s great. Really. Because yesterday in the car…when you held my wrists…that was good. Really good. I liked it.” I’m talking too much. Too fast. Too pointlessly. But I can’t stop. “It seemed like you did too.”
I’m babbling. Holy fuck. I’m definitely babbling. But I want this so much, even though he’s already said yes.
“Fucking loved it.” Banks’s smile is filthy as he grabs the waistband of my panties, then tugs them off. “But first, I really need to taste you.”
He spreads my legs and buries his face between my thighs. He eats me like I’m the meal he desperately needs at the end of the day. There’s no hesitation, no teasing, just a hungry man craving sustenance. In no time, I’m grabbing his hair and jerking him close. Panting and gasping.
Lifting my hips.
Pleading.
Wanting.
But when my breath comes faster, he stops, denying me. Then rises. Wipes a hand across his mouth. “Patience,” he says, smooth and controlling. Patience, like he said to me the first night.
“Goddamn you,” I mutter as he moves to the edge of the bed.
“That’s right. Curse me, sweetheart. You know I like it.”
“You’re really going to make me wait?”
“Yes, I’m going to make you wait. And beg. And call my name.”
I grab a pillow and throw it at him as he walks to the table. “You jackass, Banks.”
He tosses me a smug smile. “I was right. You called my name.”
“You’re the worst,” I mutter, feeling a little silly since I’m naked in bed, and wet and horny.
And yet I’m totally intrigued as he pops out of bed. He’s still dressed in a gray T-shirt and shorts. They’re tented beyond my wildest dreams. The compass of his erection is bigger than it was this morning, I swear.
He strides across the room to the vase and snags a sprig of Provence lavender. When he returns to me, he runs a big hand down my hair, a tender, caring gesture. “I promise I’ll give you everything you asked for.”
Heat sparks in me from the promise. He drops his mouth to my ear, tugs on the lobe with his teeth. “But let me try something first.”
Anticipation rushes through as I nod against him. “Anything.”
He rises up, holding the lavender, then lowering the flower end to my neck. He coasts the tiny blooms down the side of my throat. I gasp. He sweeps it along my collarbone. I moan. Then he slowly, deliciously, dusts it down my chest, between my breasts, and along my belly.
I shudder as wild sensations whip through me. This man is touching me in brand-new ways. In ways I never dreamed of. He’s turning me on with my own flowers, and as he travels down my legs, tracing my thighs, my calves, my ankles with the lavender buds, I grow hotter, needier, and more aroused.
“Banks, please,” I gasp as he brushes the flowers back up me, then over my belly button.
“Please what?” he asks, innocently.
I can’t even taunt him, I’m so needy right now. So achy. “Now. I want you now.”
With a wicked smile, he tosses the lavender onto the nightstand. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’ve been the one holding out.”
He runs the back of his knuckles against my cheek. “You’re even sexier like this. When you want it more. When you’re hungrier for my cock every single second.”
My breath comes in a rush. “Then, stop taking so long.”
But he doesn’t match my tease. His expression is serious. Seconds later, my arms are above my head, and my hands are gripping the slats. “Don’t let go,” he says, a warning.
“I won’t.”
He runs his palms down my body. I’m spread out before him.
Correction: he’s spreading me out.
He’s kneeling between my legs, adjusting my hips, then he slides down between my thighs, pressing them open. An appreciative rumble falls from his lips. I smile in heady anticipation, waiting for his next move. And he makes it as he reaches a hand to the back of his shirt, then tugs it off. “Now, where were we?”
I roll my eyes. “Gee, I wonder.”