Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“I don’t think so.” He tosses it onto the countertop.
He slides my knees apart and stands between my legs. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Said the serial killer to his next victim.” I probably shouldn’t joke about murder. I don’t know Ben. He and my brother, Worth, definitely know each other, and he’s Aurora’s fiancé’s bestie. But still, I’m sure Charles Manson had a network.
He gazes at me, like he’s trying to figure me out.
“What do you like?” he asks, his voice quiet as he slides his hands up my thighs.
I narrow my eyes. “Like to eat?” Heat from his fingers seeps through the fabric of my dress and I’m a little distracted. What is he asking me? “I like omelets.”
The corners of his mouth twitch like I’ve said something funny.
“What do you like men to do to you? What do you want me to do to you?”
I swallow and feel my cheeks heat. “You want a checklist or something?”
He reaches for the hem of my dress and pushes it up, up, up. There’s so much material, it’s all bunching around us and I can hardly see him. He releases it all and it falls back down. Just when I thought things were starting to get interesting, he’s already given up.
“You need to stay still,” he says, as he produces a glinting, stainless-steel chef’s knife. My heartbeat ramps up for all the wrong reasons. He must see it in my eyes because he just smirks.
He hooks his pointer finger into the V-neck of my dress and slices it open.
I’m too shocked to say anything.
He cuts all the way down until my dress is in two pieces and I’m wearing an expensive, and unusual, cardigan.
“That’s better,” he says on a growl, as he parts the two edges of my dress.
“That was an expensive dress,” I say, squirming as I sit in just my panties.
“I’ll buy you another one.” His gaze travels up and down my body, like he’s committing it all to memory. “You’re incredible,” he says, as he drags his knuckle down from the base of my throat, between my breasts, and over my stomach, before reaching the edge of my midnight-blue lace panties. “These are beautiful.”
He takes his knife and angles it away from my body, toward him as he cuts the lace at the hips.
He groans, and I can’t believe I’m letting him destroy my clothes. I can’t believe I’m sitting here in front of this virtual stranger, entirely naked, while he stands in front of me fully clothed as if I’m his pet or something.
We haven’t even kissed.
He cups my breasts in his hands, and whispers, “Perfect.”
Just before he releases them, he gives each nipple a sharp flick of his thumbs, and I gasp.
He watches my reaction, and then gives an approving nod.
Reaching around my back with one hand, he slides me closer to him, and then he licks my lips before pushing into my mouth in one swift movement, almost as if he can’t not kiss me. It’s so entirely passionate, but controlled and considered at the same time. And somehow that makes it hotter—the idea that underneath this man’s relaxed and happy-go-lucky front is a hidden part of him that I get to see. A part of him that can’t not kiss me. A part of him that slices off my dress with a knife because he’s too impatient to undo the buttons.
A part of him that he keeps hidden until I bring it out of him.
“Lie back.” He splays his large hand over my chest and pushes me back onto the counter.
He slides the dress out from underneath me and the cold stainless steel makes me shiver as my skin touches it.
He slides my legs apart and I feel his hot breath against my skin, in such contrast to the cold of the surface I’m lying on.
“God, you look delicious. Your wetness is reflecting off the steel and it looks like your pussy is made of diamonds.”
I bite down on my bottom lip. I’ve never had a man talk to me during sex. And I’ve definitely never been told I have a pussy made of diamonds. I’ve got a feeling tonight is going to live on in my memory for quite a while.
He doesn’t tease me. He splays my legs wide open and circles my clit with his tongue. I press my hands flat on the steel, willing myself not to make a sound. This guy has way too much confidence as it is. He doesn’t need me to massage his ego by crying out with a single touch.
Then he pushes his tongue down, through my folds to my opening, and I gasp. He’s just so sure of what he’s doing, and he’s doing it so well. He circles and flicks and pushes and presses and I can’t hold it in any longer. His tongue is doing things that should be illegal.