Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
He smirks and carries me toward the bedroom. “If this is what being pissed looks like with you, I’ll endeavor to keep you madder than hell.”
“We could’ve been doing this for the past week, but you had to try to prove a point,” I say.
“Sometimes you have to sacrifice to—whoa.”
He stumbles over the cookie tin filled with buttons, kicking it across the room. Buttons fly everywhere like circular confetti. But as he regains his footing, he trips on a step stool—why did I not move it after I tripped over it?—and we go lurching forward. Drake holds me up with one arm and catches us against the couch with the other.
Impressive.
“Sorry,” I say, wincing. “The life of an artist.”
“I hope you have good insurance.”
I tug on the roots of his hair and grind my pussy against him. “If you were an athlete, do you think you’d have better balance?”
“Excuse me?” He laughs, starting down the hallway. “I am an athlete.”
“No, but if you were a real athlete. Take the last door on your left.” My hips roll. The head of his cock is right there, and if I move just right … “Could you pretend you’re an athlete again and run? You did run in football, right?”
He squeezes my ass until it stings. “Wait. Just wait.”
“I have been. If you make me wait again, it will not end well for you.”
His eyes blaze as we enter the bedroom. The light is on in the en suite, illuminating the room just enough to see. Drake marches to the bed and tosses me onto the mattress. He’s hovering over me before I’m settled.
“What?” I ask, staring up at him.
A slow smile ghosts his lips. “Just making sure you’re real.”
I reach for him, pulling his face down to mine. His words do something goofy to my heart, and maybe if he kisses me, it’ll stop. His tongue swipes past my lips, deepening the kiss. Plunging into my mouth. Exploring it. Owning it.
He drops kisses down my throat, sternum, and across my stomach as he scoots down the bed. The kisses are less frantic but no less passionate than before. More reverent, maybe.
I writhe beneath him, aware of my loss of control. My heartbeat quickens as he rolls off the bed. He slides me to the edge by my ankles, his eyes on me always.
I take a breath. “Why don’t you—”
“Why don’t you lie back and relax?” It’s a statement and not a question. A carefully spoken request that’s really a command, softened by his recognition of my comfort zone. “All you have to do tonight is enjoy it.”
“But …”
“Hey.” One brow raises toward the ceiling. “Do you trust me? Because, if you don’t, I have no business being here.”
I search his eyes while his words claw at my defenses. Trust isn’t something I give easily. But, then again, it’s not something anyone has ever asked for. I suddenly find myself straddling a line, instead of straddling him.
I want to say no. That’s my instinct, my automatic response. But when I open my mouth to relay the message, my heart won’t let the words come out. Naked in front of him, exposed in so many ways, giving up control doesn’t feel reckless. It’s a choice—a surrender instead of submission. Something he’s asking me to do, not trying to take from me.
“Okay,” I say. “I trust you.”
“That might be the sexiest part of this whole night.”
My cheeks flush as he grabs my calves and pushes my legs toward me and my knees to the sides. The air touches my freshly waxed bits, making me shiver. But the look in his eyes, devilishly hot and downright sinful, has me trembling.
“That’s it,” he says, as he lets go of my knees, but I keep them wide. “Keep your pussy open for me.”
I lift my hips for him. “Better?”
He smirks, sliding a finger through my slit. My moan fills the air as he rocks a thumb over my swollen clit. I wiggle in a desperate plea for more.
“You’re going to come on my tongue, my fingers, and my cock tonight.” He pushes a finger, then two, inside me. “Where do you want to start?”
I grin at him, holding his gaze. “Tongue.”
His chuckle rolls through the air, hitting my core like gasoline on an already raging fire. He dips out of view, but his hands are all over me. Hips. Ass. Stomach. He squeezes my sticky thighs as he buries his face between my legs without warning.
“Fuck!” I gasp for breath as I begin to tremble. “Fuckkkk.”
He inserts his fingers again, twisting them before sliding them back out. Every lick, flick, and stroke echoes through the room, mixing with my moans to create our own soundtrack. His tongue presses against my clit before he sucks it gently, sending shock waves rippling from my head to my curled toes.