Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
“You in white lace panties, a bra, and high heels just became my favorite thing.”
“Yeah?” I keep standing with my back to him, and when his warm breath hits my shoulder, goose bumps spread over my skin.
His mouth moves up to my neck, and I shiver from how sensual it feels.
“Christ, I’m addicted to your scent,” he murmurs, his tone low and ravenous. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
He grips hold of my left buttcheek while his other arm comes around my front, and when his palm covers my breast, my head falls back against his chest.
“Tell me you need me as much as I need you,” he orders near my ear.
Placing my hands on his thighs, I rub up and down, and for once, I’m honest as I admit, “I need you more than you can ever need me.”
His palm brushes down my front and slips beneath my panties. When he drags his finger over my clit and opening, a groan rumbles from his chest. “Already so wet for me.”
My eyes drift shut from how good it feels to have him touching me, but suddenly, he pulls away.
When I glance over my shoulder, I see he’s unbuttoning his shirt. I turn around so I can watch as he gets undressed, but he keeps on his boxers, and taking my hand, he pulls me from the bedroom.
“I’m so confused right now.”
Letting out a burst of laughter, he says, “We’re cooking like this. I want to see how far I can push you before you beg me to fuck you.”
“Oh, game on.”
When we walk into the kitchen, I pull my hand free, and opening the fridge, I make a show of bending over as I take out the mushrooms and ham.
“Goddamn, princess,” Christiano groans. “What a fucking sight.”
I straighten up and set the ingredients down on the island before I grab the heavy cream and a pack of fettuccine from the pantry.
Christiano stands dead still, his eyes not leaving me for a second.
“I thought you were going to help,” I tease him.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbles as if he’s stuck in a trance.
When I walk toward the block of knives, he jumps into action and says, “I’ll do all the chopping. I don’t want you accidentally cutting yourself.”
As he pulls a knife out of the wooden block, I lean into him and press a kiss to where my name is tattooed on his chest. “So sweet.”
“Only for you.” He brings the tip of the knife to between my breasts, and with a quick flick, he cuts through the lace, and the cups fall away. “Much better.”
Dropping the knife on the counter, his arm shoots around me, and I’m lifted off my feet. He carries me to the island and sets me down on it while bending to suck one of my nipples into his mouth.
“Fuck, this is a dream come true,” he says against my hardening bud. “Lie back.”
I do as I’m told, but the second my skin touches the cold surface, I shoot back up. “It’s freezing.”
I’m scooped up into his arms and carried to the living room, where he places me on one of the couches. As I lie down, he grabs hold of my panties and rips them down my legs. My high heels fall off in the process, then my legs are pushed wide open, and his head ducks between my thighs.
I’ve never had a man go down on me before, and the sight has my lips parting. When his mouth latches onto my clit, I draw in a sharp breath.
He licks and sucks until my butt lifts off the couch. The pleasure he’s giving me is unlike anything I’ve experienced before.
My hips begin to gyrate, but then he suddenly stops, and with a dark chuckle, he pulls away. His heated gaze burns over my body, and he shakes his head. “Fuck, you’re dangerous.”
When he gets up and walks toward the kitchen, I blink like an idiot for a few seconds before I yell, “What are you doing? Come back and finish what you started.”
“That sounds a lot like an order, princess. Maybe try begging.”
“Asshole,” I snap, and climbing off the couch, I go after him.
If he wants to play dirty, so can I.
I wait for him to pick up the knife again, and when he opens the pack of sliced ham, I sink to my knees.
His attention snaps to me, and as I crawl into the space between his legs and the island where a stool can fit, I feel nervous. I’ve never done anything like this and hope I don’t screw it up.
Christiano tries to act nonchalant as he begins to cut the ham into squares, but when I take hold of his boxers and pull them down to free his hard-on, his eyes flick to me again.