Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
I let my eyes drift shut but he stops about half an inch from kissing me for the first time.
“Look at me,” he commands. My eyes flip open, my body wants to obey him. My gaze clashes with his, my heart stuttering.
I watch him kiss me. The contact is brief and chaste, but my body goes molten at the first touch. My arms wind around his neck decisively and pull him down to me. Our mouths lock together, a perfect fit, and he nibbles at my lips, kissing me like it’s the only thing he ever wants to do.
He goes slow and take sensuous bites of my lips like little bee stings, licking and sucking until I’m thoroughly weak with desire, my body thrumming and tingling from his kisses. I slide my hands down from his neck until I’m pressing on his chest, my fingertips tracing his hard pectorals that I glimpsed when he showed me his tattoo of Fenway.
He lifts his face from mine and looks down at me, his eyes hazy and his mouth reddened from kissing me. He dips down and nips my lip again, unable to stop. I push in closer to him, resting my cheek over his heart like I wanted to the night he showed me his tattoo. I rub my face against his chest and wish I could make the fabric of his shirt disappear. He lifts me off of him and drags my sweatshirt over my head. I watch his handsome smolder and his composure shatter when he sees I’m naked beneath the shirt. His lips part but no sound comes out.
“Have I made the great Mickey O’Halloran speechless?” I tease.
He’s beyond teasing now though. It’s like the sight of me stripped bare to the waist does something to his resolve. He captures me, I don’t have a better word for it. He has me by the waist gripping me hard and lifts me to his mouth and tastes my nipple. It becomes a firm bud that strains and distends under his filthy ministrations. Every lick and pinch make me want to scurry away. It’s too intense, too perfect, too aware of everything we can’t be to each other.
In a matter of seconds, I practically climb him anyways. He’s holding me up and feasting on my breasts, flushed and heavy with arousal. Boldly, I swing my leg across his lap and he groans approval. His arm slides around my hips, anchoring me to him. He keeps licking at my nipples, sending sharp bolts of pleasure down my spine. I dig my hands into his thick dark hair and tug a little at his scalp. He responds, head tipped back, eyes on mine to ask what I want next. More of this, all of this, I want to say. I don’t even know if I can survive it. The intent way he devotes himself to me, the lavish caress of his tongue on my nipples, threatens to undo me completely. I start to shake all over. I pull away, his flushed face upturned to meet my gaze.
“Are you okay?” He asks, and everything feels blurry and warm. I sink down onto his lap, aware that I’m topless and he’s fully clothed.
“No. It’s not fair,” I manage, “take off your shirt.”
When his shirt hangs open, I run my greedy palms up his chest, shoving the fabric out of the way and rub my face on his tattoo, half kissing, half nuzzling. I feel him squirm beneath my thighs. I kiss his shoulder and collarbone, push my bare chest up against his. The thick mat of hair makes my breasts tingle, abrading my tender damp nipples and sets me alight. I rub myself on him like a cat, satisfied with the riot of sensations. His head has gone back and he’s staring fixedly at the ceiling, his hands fisted by his side.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, kissing his jaw and giving a purr of pleasure.
His voice comes through gritted teeth. “I want to make this last, goddammit. I don’t know if I can.”
I can feel the heat and frustration rolling off of him. He’s vibrating with arousal. I reach for his face and bring him down to kiss me again. When our mouths meet it’s like a wildfire. There’s no softness or exploration this time. It’s mating pure and simple. All these weeks of yearning, the nights I lay awake with my hand stuffed in my panties trying to get relief, every meeting I sat through trying not to shift in my chair or bite my lip over how much he turned me on.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask.
“I never want you to stop,” he grinds out, and his resolve snaps in two.
He pulls me down over the length of him, rigid and thick, curving hard to the right. My thighs shake and wetness slicks me. He works me over his length a couple of times and just that friction is sending sparks behind my eyes. I grip his big shoulders to steady myself and for the enjoyment of grabbing him with my greedy hands. He keeps kissing me, his tongue claiming.