Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I want to be his undoing.
Judging by his uneven breathing, I wonder if I already am.
“Just like that,” I urge as he picks up speed.
Sweat mists our skin.
Soon, the pleasure sweeps in, full and angry and too all-consuming to speak.
There’s no sense that isn’t dominated by him as he works deeper, faster, harder.
There’s no nerve untouched as he makes me feel his power, his lust, animalistic and so intense I come again shamefully fast.
I’m barely coming down, lost in sex, feeling him using me like his personal toy.
There’s just his hand in my hair, his cock pounding, and the loud, pained creak of the sofa as we almost break the thing.
No regrets.
As his hips punch faster, his free hand finds my clit. The movements are clumsy but still unspeakably good.
Another orgasm sweeps in, choking off my breath.
Because all it takes is that rough pressure to send me spiraling over the edge.
I spasm, convulse, and sputter.
And he holds me steady, never letting up his relentless rhythm, chasing my climax with more sensation. I hardly know where he begins and I end.
I just know I don’t want it any other way.
“Lena,” he gasps.
Then he stiffens, his thrusts turning wild, erratic, and I’m holding my breath.
I arch my back with a shuddering scream as he empties himself inside me.
I spend the night at Brady’s.
Good thing, too, or I would’ve passed out before I ever made it home.
That was always his plan, I suppose, but after our sex marathon on the couch and again in the shower before we finished in his bed, it didn’t feel right turning down warm sheets made like an Egyptian cotton cloud.
Also, if I went back to my house, I’d have to face Harry thoughts again, and who wants that?
Brady turned my insides into soup, and I was perfectly happy shutting out the world in favor of an escape.
Which he gave me.
Again and again and again.
By the time we finally emerge from his penthouse the next morning, I’m deliciously sore in a way I haven’t felt for ages.
He takes my hand like it’s a pure flex. And hell, after that, maybe it is.
The scary thing is that it doesn’t scare me. My brain isn’t racing with worries or doubts as I hold hands with him while we enter his private garage to pick up his sleek white custom Range Rover.
No driver today.
Just us.
I’ll admit, it’s kinda cute.
So is the way he opens the door for me and helps me up into the passenger seat.
“I love that you know how to treat a lady,” I say as I duck inside.
“I’d better. The helping hand is part of the experience after I ruined you last night.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. Mostly because it’s true, and he’s such a cocky prick. But Brady knows that I know he has the package to back up his talk.
I’m trying so hard not to look like the dumb girl with fluttery eyelashes watching her first crush as he climbs in behind the wheel.
His sleeves are rolled up, and he’s sporting that Apple Watch with the opulent gold wristband, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it did before.
His money isn’t everything. He’s a good man, and good people are entitled to a few luxuries. It’s a gorgeous watch too.
As queasy as I feel over the gaping difference in assets sometimes, I can’t imagine him using his money in a controlling way.
Unlike some people I could mention. Brady isn’t another demon in a skin suit possessed by pure greed.
He looks at me as he pulls out of the underground garage into the sunlight. “You’re staring, Lena. Everything okay?”
“I just . . . I like you this way.” I reach over and rub my knuckles across the scruff on his chin.
He smirks. “You haven’t seen me any other way. Watch out.”
“I internet stalked you, though. You were clean shaven back when you were busy breaking hearts.”
“Mm, yeah. Guilty.” He rubs his chin, his brow creasing when I mention his past.
“I prefer this look. Huge glow-up.”
“I was planning on keeping the beard.” He runs a hand over his jaw like he’s considering how it would feel to not have it there. I don’t think it’s just the lack of facial hair that might bother him.
“You could always grow it longer, Viking boy,” I tease. “I had a huge lady boner for Jason Momoa when I was in high school. Only reason why I could speak fluent nerd with the Stargate geeks.”
“Loved that show. You had me sold before that, Sass.” He grins. “I’m not about to crawl through portals to other galaxies, but I think I’d take dealing with aliens over my mother’s shit if I walk in straight out of medieval Norway. Don’t think she’d appreciate it if I tell her I’m living out the Scandinavian side of the family tree.”