Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
"Nice view," she says.
"I wasn't planning on looking at that view."
Vivian whirls to face me and casually steps out of her heels. "What were you planning on looking at?"
Instead of answering, I close the distance between us. My hand finds the curve of her waist, and she doesn't pull away. Instead, she rests both palms on my chest.
She tips her head back to look at me and stands on her toes.
"You sure about this?" I ask.
"Are you?"
"I stopped being sure about anything the minute you sat down next to me."
She laughs, soft and breathless. "Good answer."
The kiss sets my whole body on fire. Thirty minutes of raw, pent-up need explodes the second our mouths crash together, no preamble, no restraint. Vivian's lips part under mine with the same frantic hunger, and the little whimper she makes vibrates straight down my spine, wrapping tight around my already aching cock.
It throbs against the rigid zipper of my dress pants, leaking at the tip.
My hands move greedily, mapping every inch through that thin dress. The flare of her hips under my palms, the narrow dip of her waist, the heavy softness of her tits crushing against my chest, the delicious globes that fit perfectly in my palms.
She's burning up, responsive as hell, arching into every touch. When I pull back just enough to drag in air, she chases my mouth immediately, tongue sliding against mine, teeth nipping at my lower lip.
Fucking hell.
Vivian doesn't want space. Neither do I.
"Jesus," I growl against her swollen lips.
"Just Vivian."
Her fingers attack my shirt buttons, yanking fabric apart until she can shove it off my shoulders. She skates her palms over my chest, nails scraping down my abs, tracing the lines of muscle. Every touch leaves fire in its wake.
The zipper on her dress is a slow torture I inflict on both of us. I draw it down inch by inch, watching her face the whole time. Her pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed dark. When the fabric peels away and I realize she's not wearing a bra—that she's been sitting inches from me all night with nothing but silk between my eyes and her bare nipples—my mind just blanks.
"Fuck, Vivian."
The dress puddles at her feet. She stands there in nothing but a scrap of lace underwear, all soft curves and flushed skin. The slight give of her belly, the faint stretch marks on her hips, the way her nipples have tightened into hard peaks from nothing but my stare.
Jesus Christ. How can someone look this beautiful?
Vivian's hands drop to my belt, fingers brushing the bulge straining against my fly. The contact jolts through me so hard I snag her wrists, pinning them gently but firmly.
"Slow down," I growl, barely recognizing my own voice. "We've got time."
Her eyes flicker with something vulnerable, a quick flash of uncertainty. "Do we?"
I don't answer with words. Instead I lift her, hands cupping the lush curve of her ass, and drop her onto the bed. The mattress dips under our combined weight as I follow her down, covering her completely. Skin to skin now, except for that last bit of lace and my undone pants. Her nipples scrape against my chest, sending sparks straight to my cock.
"We've got all night," I say against the shell of her ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. The full-body shiver that rolls through her, the way her thighs instinctively part to cradle my hips...
She's as hungry as I am.
I take my time because I'm greedy. I want to feel every reaction.
My mouth finds the flutter of her pulse at her throat, sucking hard enough to leave a faint mark. It will take days to fade, and that thought gives me some twisted satisfaction.
Vivian arches with a gasp when I hit the spot on her neck, her fingers twisting tight in my hair. I chuckle darkly and trail lower.
Her tits fill my hands perfectly, soft and heavy, and when I close my lips around one tight nipple and drag my teeth over it, she exhales a low, broken, rasping sound. Neediness.
"Matthew—"
My name on her lips sinks into my bones and makes my cock leak against her thigh. I'm so hard it hurts.
I keep moving lower, tasting the salt of her skin, the faint sheen of sweat between her breasts. I map her ribs, the soft plane of her stomach, the sharp bone of her hip that I bite gently just to hear her whimper.
By the time I hook my fingers in her panties and drag them down her legs, her pussy's already glistening, inner thighs slick, the scent of her so strong it makes my head spin. Headier than the bourbon.
"What's taking you so long? Please, Matthew."
"Patience, love."
"Fuck you."
"Yes, you're about to."
I spread her open with my thumbs and drag my tongue up the center of her in one long, filthy stroke. She cries out, hips jerking hard off the mattress. She tastes like sin—I already know I'll be craving this—and I bury my face between her thighs.