Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
‘Pouvez-vous entendre ca? Can you hear how wet you are for me? How much you want this.’
Sensations swirl and coalesce as I’m driven on by words I don’t understand yet recognise, unashamedly grinding against his hand. Elastic snaps against my stomach and his fingers appear above the covers, the evidence of my arousal glistening there.
‘Tu es délicieux.’
I need no translation as he brings them to his mouth to lick them clean.
As his arm lowers, he pulls the hem of my T-shirt up over my head, dropping it to the floor and deftly rolling me under him.
‘Maintenant,’ he growls, pressing himself between my legs. ‘Now. I need you now.’
His body over mine . . . it’s no less than perfect. The angles of his shoulders block out the light spilling from the hallway, the weight and feel of his solidness over me.
‘Parfaite.’
His thumb grazes my nipple, sliding back and forth over the sensitive peak, leaving me a desperate, whimpering heap.
‘Yes, perfect.’
We need no common language for Remy to discern the effect he has on me. I tremble as his gaze falls over me. With the barest and most teasing of touches I melt.
Oh, the relief—the absolute relief—as he greedily draws my nipple into his mouth. Matching his hunger, I wrap my legs around his waist, my hands in his hair as my cries ring through the air.
He’s touched me, his fingers have been inside me, yet I’m somehow shocked when his mouth meets mine. Maybe my shock stems not from the kiss, but the way that he kisses. The intensity. The sense that he’s all power and command restrained, and I know at this moment, he’ll fuck like he kisses. There’s nothing tentative in his most thorough of applications as he presses me into the mattress. He swallows my carnal groan, everything speeding up in that instant. Hands grasp, tongues thrust, fingers biting skin. Our mouths fused, and our minds deaf and blind to anything but this. But then my body mourns the lack of his as he suddenly pulls back, rising before me on his knees. And, oh my God, is he beautiful. My gaze follows the bold curve of his shoulders down his muscular arm—deltoids and triceps, oh my!—my attention drawn to the ladder of abdominals with the movement of his hand. The long powerful line of his thighs and that delicious V, lower still to where his cock stands proud. Proud and so vulgar and so beautiful.
And so big.
I don’t realise I’ve pushed up onto my elbow until I’m reaching for it. He’s so hard, like satin over steel as my thumb caresses his silken head, he exhales a wholly masculine groan.
‘You’re huge.’ I’m certain I don’t mean to sound so awe-filled. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a cock in my hand, but it’s easily the loveliest. And the longest. Fullest? To put it another way, this man wins the Rose Ryan Prize for Penii.
‘J’aime ça . . . I like that a lot. But if you keep doing that while looking at me as you are, we’re both going to be very disappointed.’
‘I wish I understood,’ I murmur, taking him in my fist. Then suddenly I do as he releases a long, measured exhale, almost arching into my hand.
‘Like that?’ I tighten my grasp, running my hand from root to tip.
‘Plus fort . . . harder.’ His words are taut, his gaze glued to my bare breasts as he covers my hand with his. But in a sudden fit of daring, I pull my hand from under his.
‘Let me watch.’
Head lowered, he stares up at me through thick, dark lashes. My heart moves into my throat. Was that too bold? Too forward? Was it lost in fucking translation?
‘Aimes-tu regarder . . . You like to watch.’ His sudden smile is a study in sinfulness, and he moves so fast, I find myself squealing as he reaches for the hem of my pyjama pants, whipping them off and leaving me feeling thoroughly undignified with my toes around his ears. ‘Bon . . . Good. So do I.’
I don’t have time to cogitate his expression as, palm flat against the pillow, he presses me back with a kiss. A hungry kiss. A thorough kiss. The kind that fries my brain, melting me across the bed.
‘Touche toi . . . Touch yourself for me, darling. Make yourself come.’ With his words, he lifts my hand, pressing it between my legs as he kisses me again, coaxing my fingers to begin.
My eyes flutter closed. I’m so turned on, I’m almost embarrassed to let him see just how much. But they don’t stay closed for long. Not as cool air settles between us as he pulls away. Not as he exhales. Groans. Not as the rhythmic sound of skin on skin fills the room.