Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
That earns a real laugh—low, genuine—and then he kisses me again, properly this time.
It’s decisive and consuming all at once, and the way he gathers my hair at my nape makes my spine arc like he’s pulled a string. My skirt rides up my thighs, his palms sliding over bare skin, heat meeting heat. I feel him hard against me, the proof of everything he tries not to say, and a noise slips out of me that is not pretty or polite. He swallows it with another kiss, and I roll my hips because I have to, the pressure exactly where I need it. The couch frame grumbles again, and I couldn’t care less if it collapses under us.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my mouth, and then, softer, almost like he’s scolding himself, “Penny.”
“You keep saying my name like that,” I say, a little dazed, “and I’m going to lose track of basic motor function.”
“Maybe I want you to.” He presses his forehead to mine. His voice goes hoarse. “You taste like trouble.”
“Lucky for you, I’ve always been good at it.”
I lean back enough to tug his shirt up, and he lifts his arms, obedient and wrecked with wanting. The string of lights gives just enough light to see his toned definition under my palms. His chest rises and falls like he’s been running. I press my mouth to the center of it and feel his heartbeat rally against my lips, rapid and sure. He inhales sharply when I slide lower and graze one flat male nipple with my tongue—curiosity and mischief—and the surprised curse makes me chuckle against him.
“Penny.” He clamps a hand around my wrist, not to stop me, just to anchor himself. “You’re going to kill me.”
“What a way to die though, right?” I say, coming back up and settling fully into his lap, the thick insistence of him nudging through denim and thin cotton.
His mouth quirks at one corner and he slides his hands beneath my skirt with a carefulness that punches all the air out of me.
Sam takes his time, knuckles brushing the inside of my knees, slow journey upward until his fingers skate along the edge of my underwear and pause. The wordless ask is there and I answer with a nod that feels like yes to this and yes to more and yes to him. He strokes me through the thin material once, twice, watching my face the whole time like he’s studying a book he’s trying to interpret. When I rock forward and gasp, he exhales roughly and strokes again, firmer. My head tips back.
“Take them off,” I say, my voice unsteady.
Sam utters a low growl that one might think would be denial, but to the contrary, he maneuvers my body so that with some twisting, squirming and kicking free, my panties are gone. The warm air from the fire kisses skin that feels oversensitized, and his fingers dip between my legs, stealing my breath from my lungs.
“Oh, wow,” I mutter, flexing my hips. “Oh… just wow.”
The tension builds, his fingers finding the mark over and over and over again. I’m dizzy, barely holding on as my hips circle to garner more friction.
“That’s it,” Sam whispers, praising my movements, and that turns me on even more.
One delicious swipe from the pad of his finger where I’m most sensitive and all that tension blows apart in a massive rush of pleasure. It rips through my body, and I cry out from the release.
Sam chuckles darkly, working his fingers to prolong my orgasm, until he gentles me all the way down. My head spins and I have the vague notion that I should be doing something in return. As if in a dream, my hands go to the snap of his jeans to free that thick ridge straining to break free because I won’t be satisfied until I can have all of him.
“Wait,” Sam rumbles, and my hands still. He shifts under me, digging for his wallet in his back pocket. The absurdly domestic scrabble of leather on denim in the middle of everything makes me giggle. He opens the wallet without looking away from me, finds a foil square, and holds it up like a promise. “Safe sex all the way!”
“Absolutely.” I grin at him.
He sobers. “No going back now. Things are going to change after this.”
“They’re already changed, Sam,” I say softly.
“Yeah… I know,” he whispers.
Sam tucks the condom between his teeth for a second to free the wrapper, and there’s something tender in the way his hands fumble, not from inexperience but because he’s shaking a little. I slide off to one side just enough for him to shove his jeans down, mouth going dry when I see him. He rolls the condom on, then sits back, legs parted, gaze locked to mine.