Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
My words are cut off when Connor steps forward, cupping my face. His mouth fits to mine and in an instant, every thought melts away.
It is a simple kiss, soft lips, firm pressure, and then he gives me another from a different angle before he pulls away. Connor’s green eyes search mine, flickering back and forth in question. My thoughts scream to not let him retreat again, but before I think to tug him back to me, he’s already resolved, stepping closer, crowding my space. I stand on my toes as he bends to meet me, his mouth softer and hungrier now, going after those angles we found last time, deeper, his tongue teasing and hot. Connor groans and the sound drops me into a pool of want, and all I can think about is diving down, finding more of that hoarse need he’s hiding away. I keep expecting him to break it off, to pull away again and apologize, remind me that we weren’t going to do this again, but the more we kiss, the more his intensity ramps up.
Connor lifts me, setting me in front of him on the counter, pushing my legs apart so he can step between them. His hand roams up my back, around my ribs, cupping my breast while the other pulls my hips forward, pinning me to his body. I’m rewarded with another groan, and another when I grind against him. He doesn’t stop me as I unbutton his shirt, spreading it open, flattening my hands against the warm wall of his torso, broad and tight.
Connor’s mouth is on my neck, his fingers curling around the strap of my tank top, dragging it off my shoulder and lower, stretching the fabric, pulling my bra with it to bare me to his mouth and teeth. The feel of his bite and kiss on my nipple is pleasure undiluted, making my vision spot black as my body greedily steals every available molecule of oxygen.
His hair is so soft in my hands, and he seems to like when I pull it, grunting into my skin, biting me in delicious retaliation when I’m rough. When I pull it hard enough, he moves with the gesture, standing again and claiming my mouth. I want his kiss for hours. I’ve never been kissed like this before, with such command and confidence, with an energy that’s nearly angry. He shows no signs of stopping tonight, and adrenaline dumps heat into my bloodstream.
Connor’s teeth are bared against my jaw, hands digging up my skirt to drag my underwear down my legs.
“All right, sweet?” he asks roughly into my neck, and I nod, keep nodding, because he has permission, frankly, to do whatever the hell he wants. I want to put together a coherent thought about what this feels like, the way his hands wrap so imposingly around my thighs, the heat and scrape of his teeth on my skin, but only later will I really be able to process anything but the flood of sensation, this feeling of what it’s like to be completely consumed with wanting someone. We are live wires, bare nerves, moving on instinct.
His palm slips back up my thigh, teasingly slow, his kiss still rough and playful, teeth tugging my bottom lip. And then his fingertips graze over me, slippery and hot for him. His mouth goes soft and overcome against mine before he pulls away a fraction, balancing care and command, watching my face as he fucks me with one finger, and then two, maddeningly slow. I’m watching his mouth, the way it shapes these half-formed words, the way his teeth bear down on his lower lip when he presses his thumb to me, circling, the cocky smile that appears when I let out an involuntary cry.
Under my impatient fingers, his pants are soon down around his knees, beautiful cock finally in my hand, and I bring him to me, teasing us both until we’re a fevered mess, kisses sloppy and biting, the head of him pressing into me and—
We pause, sensibility over sense, fumbling for that stray condom in the junk drawer, laughing into a kiss about how convenient that was, how being a mess is sometimes useful. He does it because my hands are shaking and his are steady, but I watch because I’m smart and naked Connor is the sexiest thing I have ever seen.
And when he steps forward again, I say his name, a question mark in my voice, but he kisses me, says, “Don’t,” against my mouth, “I can’t say no again,” as he pushes forward.
It’s slow, perfect torture. Sanity is so fragile, I think, losing my mind in inches, one after another as he works his way into me, carefully, his focus on my expressions and sounds. But then it goes from careful to starving the second he’s all the way in, like stone in silk, and I become a wind tunnel of thoughts, tiny particles and fragments flying by too fast for me to process. I am a selfish monster wanting more. I am a wizard toying with time to make this sex last an eternity. I am the first woman to ever be with a man, I’m sure of it.