Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
He pulled back, gripping her hips, tipping her body slightly. Her back was wedged against the wall, preventing movement. When he drove his cock hard into her, holding her still with his hands, he had positioned her perfectly so that he scissored over the sensitive bundle of nerves. The friction sent fiery streaks coursing through her body in waves. Over and over. Rough. Tender. Fast. Slow. He never allowed her to adjust to the rhythm. He didn’t stop, driving her up, taking her right to the brink so that she was sobbing for release, clutching at him desperately, begging him.
He was wickedly trying to keep her on edge, but her body refused to obey his silent command. Not so silent. He swore under his breath. That prayerful, crude chant he rasped out as he stared into her eyes, keeping her captive, claiming her. Possessing her. Owning her, body and soul. And her heart. He didn’t know or believe it, but he owned her heart. He kept up the chant. Kept hammering into her until the tsunami came, wave after powerful wave, rolling through her body.
He was so large she felt every vein, his heartbeat, every pulse and jerk. His extraordinary heat. So hot, a scorching furnace. Then she was clamping down on him, a wet silken embrace, sucking at his cock, eager to milk him dry, feeling his reaction, hearing his roar as he threw back his head and called to the heavens. His powerful cock erupted in a violent frenzy, coating her sheath with ropes of his hot seed, triggering more answering waves in her body.
Ambrielle had no idea how long they were on the porch, the sound of their ragged breathing and the wind matching the tune of the branches shifting in the trees. She clung to his strong neck, her only anchor, her legs wrapped around his hips. His body shuddered while hers continued to have strong rippling aftershocks. His face stayed buried between her head and shoulder, the bristles on his jaw sliding along her skin with every small movement.
Eventually, Master lifted his head. “You all right, princess?”
Was she? She wanted to tell him so many things. All the revelations she had. The realizations she’d come to. She could only stare at him, shocked at how in love with him she actually was. “I’m perfect.”
He slowly lowered her legs to the floor of the porch and allowed his cock to slip out of her. Okay, maybe she wasn’t so perfect. Maybe she wasn’t going to be able to walk after all. She found herself laughing as she caught at his arm, steadying herself.
“Um, babe, I think I need a bath with salts. That’s the only way I’m ever going to be able to walk normally again. At this rate, I’m going to be walking bowlegged.”
His gaze jumped to the hot mess that was the vee between her legs. He never seemed to notice she was a mess. He just viewed her with absolute lust, as if he could never get enough of her. It was impossible to feel embarrassed by her naked state when he was still mostly fully clothed, not when he was looking at her with that look.
She held up her hand. “Not again. I need the bathtub. I’m serious. You are exhausted and need a bed. Let me take a bath and we can sleep for a little while.”
He woke her twice, once with his mouth between her legs and once to drag her up on her hands and knees. He seemed insatiable. Ambrielle didn’t mind because sex with Master was nothing short of fantastic, but it did require maintenance and aftercare—which he was always careful about.
* * *
“Is your throat feeling better?” Ambrielle had been very careful to avoid the subject of Master’s throat over the last few days. She’d regarded their time together as a mini honeymoon. Walking on the property hand in hand. Talking quietly on the porch, just the two of them, chairs side by side. Making meals together in the kitchen. He was very good at making her laugh. Mostly, it was his droll humor. In the evenings they went upstairs to his music studio, and he played for her. He didn’t sing because he couldn’t, but she looked forward to the nights when he could.
They spent a lot of time in the bathtub, one of her favorite places. They were there once again, after a marathon sex session. He’d turned out the lights again and lit the candles on the tall pillars, joining her.
“Master.” Ambrielle laid her head back on the cushion and watched the candlelight flicker on the ceiling above her head. The water moved back and forth, giving the illusion that the flame was burning on the surface. She dipped her fingers in the water and idly chased the flame.