Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
My hands slid upward, resting on the safe spot of his shoulders, knowing there were no spots to hurt there, and kissing him back with everything in me.
A soft, mewling sound escaped me as his tongue teased the seam of my lips, then slid inside to toy with mine.
The next thing I knew, Donovan was sitting off the side of the bed, and pulling me to straddle him.
I sat down carefully, making sure my ass was on his thighs, not lower where all his road rash was located.
Then his lips were on me again.
My lips.
My cheek, over my jaw, tickling the shell of my ear, then slowly moving downward, the scratch of his beard on my neck sending little shivers of pleasure through my body.
Beneath me, I could feel the hardness of his cock brushing against the juncture of my thighs.
Desperation had me dropping some of my weight down, his hard length brushing against where I desperately needed to be touched.
Donovan’s hand was gliding down my front, grazing over my breast, then down over my belly before he got to the button and zip of my shorts, working them free with deft fingers.
And then his hand was inside, slipping right into my panties, stroking down my cleft.
“So wet for me already,” he murmured, leaning in close even as his fingers shifted back up, finding my clit, and starting to work it. “So sensitive,” he said as a shiver coursed through me at his touch. “More?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whimpered, leaning into him, the side of my face pressed to his.
His fingers shifted down and slipped inside of me as his thumb stayed on my clit.
A low whimper escaped me as his fingers started to thrust.
Folding forward, I rested my face in his neck as he started to drive me up.
It happened almost embarrassingly quickly—clear evidence of just how long it had been since I’d felt a man touch me—that pre-tightening, that breathless sensation in my chest.
“Come for me,” he demanded, voice soft and rough somehow at the same time.
And like my body had been waiting for that demand, it did so as if on cue, the waves crashing through me, leaving me crying out against the skin of his neck.
“Again,” he murmured before I even managed to get my breathing under control from the first orgasm.
“You don’t have…” I started, trailing off on a whimper as his fingers shifted inside of me, starting to stroke over my top wall instead of thrusting, that little ‘come hither’ motion that I swear no man I’d ever known had truly known how to do.
But Donovan, he knew exactly what he was doing, and he worked me relentlessly, but slowly, like he was enjoying the torment of the slow build, like he was personally getting off on every stroke.
Eventually, though, my body didn’t care how slowly he was working me, I started to crest, then crash. This orgasm seemed to steal my breath and voice, leaving me gasping and gripping Donovan’s back and shoulders as the waves kept crashing through me.
I collapsed into him then, spent, my arms around him, my face in his neck.
His other arm went lightly around me, likely not wanting to put pressure on his rashes, but still wanting to hold onto me.
It was insane.
It was just a couple of orgasms.
But I swear I felt the tiniest little part of me starting to fall for this man.
It was just that thought that made me snap back to reality, trying to convince myself that I was clearly starting to mingle my own feelings, all the feel-good hormones from orgasms, and the emotional attachment I felt to my current book characters were messing with my head, and confusing me.
I pulled away from him, sliding off of his lap, then turning to refasten my shorts.
“Do you, uhm, want help with your bandages?” I asked, telling myself that I would not get down on my knees like that again.
Because, quite frankly, I didn’t trust myself not to go down on him again.
Which was extra absurd because I’d never really enjoyed the task before.
“Cato helped me out earlier,” he told me.
“Oh okay,” I said, going back over toward the desk, and opening the lid to my laptop. “Ah, thanks. For the coffee,” I rushed to add when I realized he could misconstrue what I was saying.
I could have sworn he let out a little sighing sound, but I tried to ignore it as I looked at my open document page.
I didn’t even hear him get off the bed, let alone move behind me.
But then he was leaning down toward the top of my head, his breath rustling my hair as he moved close.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I didn’t think you were thanking me for making you come. But you’re welcome for that too,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.