Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
My thighs clench. “All of the above.”
“Such a greedy woman,” he says with a growl, then hauls me in for a hot kiss. He moans as he kisses me, like he can’t bear stopping. But when he does, he scoops me up in his arms, strides to a bench in the corner of the patio, then sits, arranging me so I’m straddling him. My back is to the alleyway, so even though we’re all alone, he’s making sure no one can see me but him. That attention excites me more. Feeling bold and daring, I bob a shoulder. “Let’s see. Where did we leave off…?”
He grips my hips and tugs me down, and I feel his length. I gasp. His hands slide under my coat, under my sweater, then under my cami. The chill of his fingers makes me flinch, but I wriggle closer. His big hands warm quickly, coasting up to cup my breasts.
“Fuck, snow angel,” he murmurs as he fondles them through my red lace bra, then drops his gaze to stare at my chest. “Is this…lace? Did you wear something sexy for me?”
I bite the corner of my lips. “Maybe I did.”
He pushes my sweater and cami up higher, staring wantonly at my red lace demi bra. “Beautiful,” he praises, then runs a thumb across the top of my right breast.
Pushing the lace down, he exposes my nipples. They’re hard—it’s cold outside, but I’m hot inside. I shiver, but I’m pretty sure it’s from the excitement.
“Mmm. So pretty and rosy,” he says.
I arch against his hands, seeking more contact. With a groan, he pinches one nipple, then the other, then his mouth finds my nipple.
He sucks and licks as a new tune plays softly from his coat. As I grab his head, lacing my fingers through his hair, the way he likes, it hits me all at once—I’m pushing the limits of propriety. I’m outside, after dark, in the cold. I’ve never been more turned on.
He kisses my tits until I feel like I could come from this. “What are we doing?” I whisper.
“What I’ve been fighting for more than a year,” he says, raising his face to meet my eyes.
More than a year.
I barely have time to process the weight of that admission as he kisses me again. I’m lost to Rowan Bishop’s hands and mouth and plans. Like the sexy playlist he made for me. Like the patio he found. Like the text he sent yesterday morning.
It’s not the vulnerability I imagined. But it’s still real. He’s opening up. He’s been making plans for me all along. It’s a heady and a lovely thought.
I tug on his hair, pulling him up, wanting to meet his eyes. “More. I want more,” I whisper, since if he’s being vulnerable like this, I can too.
His eyes darken with dirty deeds as he lowers his hands. “You’re so fucking pretty when you ask for it,” he says. His lips twitch. “But I need something too.”
“What? What do you need?” The question flies out.
He cups the back of my head. With his other hand, he fiddles with the button on my jeans. “Need you to come, snow angel. I need you to come so fucking quietly, so I’m the only one who can hear you. Can you do that?”
Consent is hot, and I love that he’s asking how far he can go with me in public even though we’re the only ones around.
I arch a brow. “Bet you can’t make me come in under five minutes.”
His smile is smug. “You’re on.”
The man is fast but focused. He unzips my jeans with precision, then stops, blows on his hands, and returns one to my belly.
It’s warmer, and I feel a little punch-drunk that he heated them up. His fingers slide farther, dancing across the top of my panties.
But he doesn’t tease me for long. He’s got something to prove, after all, and he slides his fingers into the red lace of my underwear.
I gasp, murmuring an oh god.
“Quiet,” he admonishes.
I nod, then roll my lips together when his fingers find my wetness.
“Fuck me,” he mutters.
I smile back at him. “Quiet, Rowan,” I chide.
He laughs, then brings his hand to his mouth and sucks off the evidence of my arousal. “Yep. You taste better than any dessert,” he says, then drops his hand between my thighs again.
With nimble fingers, he strokes me, his eyes bright, like I’m the most fun thing he’s ever touched. There’s barely room to move. But I manage to spread my thighs wider as I straddle his legs, my hands curled on his shoulders.
Like that, he draws circles on my clit, slides his fingers through my wetness. I’m dissolving into nothing but pleasure as I rock gently against him.
He ups the pace, rubbing faster, right where I want him.