Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” she whispered, biting her lip, her eyes wild.
The way she was deferring to him was about to make him blow his wad—he fucking liked it when she agreed with him so readily. “Now.”
She sucked in a breath and held his eyes. “Yeah.”
Needing inside but wanting her panting for it, he fingered her clit, the silky little bud tantalizing him to the point of no return. Unable to stop himself, he slipped a finger inside, and when she gasped, his abs tightened as he strove for control, adding a second finger to the first. Her eyes slipped closed as another wave of moisture told him what he needed to know. There was no denying that she was wet—she seemed completely ready, tiny little moans coming from the back of her throat as if she couldn’t wait.
Fuck—he couldn’t wait. Moving more fully between her legs, he put the head of his cock to her tight, slick opening. Jesus. He took a breath and then another before gaining enough control to question, “You feel that, sweetness?”
Her head rolled from side to side. “God, yes.”
Keep it light, Villarreal. You’ll have all the time in the world to fuck her the way you want once you have her in Argentina, securely yours by manipulation—and a wedding band. “Call me Max, love.” He pulled back and then slammed inside with a forceful thrust. As he bottomed out within her, she gasped, the sound making him groan. He took a deep breath, fire ricocheting in his guts as he soothed her once more, “Say my name and I promise, you’ll remember this night for as long as you live.”
She breathed raggedly before whispering, “Max.”
“Yeah.” He almost lost it—his name on her lips was that fucking sweet—but sheer grit and determination allowed him to go easy; he couldn’t take the chance of scaring her off by unleashing his true nature. Not yet. Give her an amazing orgasm, Villarreal. Take the same for yourself. Later, when he had her fully under his control, only then could he relax and be himself. But for now, tonight, he had to practice restraint. With those instructions clamoring in his brain, he began thrusting, taking smooth, deep strokes that blew his mind and almost made him lose control way too soon. She was so damn tight—Christ—he’d thought she would be—but this—this was so fucking perfect he was forced to bite his lip until he tasted blood—just to stay in control. He wanted her with him, to come with him or before him, so he bent down and kissed her long and hard before releasing her mouth and going for her nipple. “Lift it for me,” he ordered and she complied immediately, pressing her breast to his mouth and sending another wave of fervor through him.
She tasted like pure, sweet heaven and within seconds of biting and stroking her with his tongue, he felt her muscles tighten as she began trembling uncontrollably, her powerful orgasm taking over her entire body.
Satisfaction blazed through him, but the tight, sweet clasp of her body was his undoing and he followed her over into paradise, thrusting harder and deeper within her and when it was over, he gave them a few moments to recover before reluctantly slipping from her.
As gently as he could manage, he carried her to the bed before he went into the bathroom.
Closing the door, he snapped on the light. He leaned his hand against the counter and sucked in a few much needed breaths as his heart rate slowly stabilized. Son-of-a-bitch. That had been some intense shit. Already, mere moments later, he felt the slow, burning need to crawl on top of her again. He imagined holding her captive on the bed, spread-eagled as he sank inside her. Slowly this time, repeatedly—fucking her as much and however he wanted.
With that idea uppermost in his thought process, he began to clean up so he could get back to her. He grasped his cock in his hand, preparing to remove the condom.
What he saw should have cooled him off—frozen him even, but it didn’t.
The condom was unequivocally, no question about it, broken. Split completely in two in the one place where it was most important to hold securely. Split. Broken. At the sight, a mass of shit knotted his gut—a fuck-up like this wasn’t in his experience and certainly hadn’t been part of his plan.
Assessing the situation carefully, he peeled off what should have been his worst nightmare and discarded it, refusing to question exactly when and why his sanity had taken a walk. Surely to hell he should be breaking out in a cold sweat right about now? That would be the appropriate reaction to a broken condom, and he damn well knew it.
So why was he only feeling a twisted sort of Machiavellian satisfaction?