Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Round three was in the shower.
I was smashed against the wall, water pounding over both of us.
My hands were up, his were linked with mine, and he was moving up into me from behind.
I think that was my favorite.
Round four was when the sun was coming up.
I’d lost track of time and was starting to lose energy, but Ashton was still going.
This time it was slow and exploratory. If the others had been straight sex, this was the slow-sex round.
He worshipped every inch of my body, kissing, tasting, caressing, and I was panting, grabbing onto the bedsheets as his mouth brought me to climax before he rose back over me.
His gaze met mine, and we both paused. I was panting, trying to catch my breath, and his eyes were dark, so dark. Our last words had been mine, telling him to treat me right, and he had.
The night had been a fuck fest.
Something flashed in his eyes, something hard and primal and something that sent a shiver down my spine. Whatever it was, he reached for my legs and raised them up, pushing them so they were above my head. I had to scoot down, but rising back, he held my legs in place. His hands would leave handprints on the backs of my thighs, but he shoved inside, and I was wrong.
This wasn’t the slow-sex round.
This was the hard: “I’m going to ride you so hard that you have absolutely nothing left, and I will enjoy fucking the life out of you”—it was that round.
He watched me the whole time, his strokes almost punishing. I held his gaze. We were in some sort of fight, even just now. I just panted, not caring about whatever was going on in his head, because I was loving this. The harder, the better, and I grinned as he growled, bending over me, his forehead next to mine. His head was turned, and we still watched each other. Our lips were grazing against each other, but neither moved to seal a kiss.
We hadn’t kissed the whole night.
Suddenly, he let go of my legs. They fell around his waist, but he held a hand against the headboard so he was able to pull back, almost coming out of me, only to slam back inside.
I gasped, moaning. He was making my entire body shake, and somehow I knew this round was him taking out some form of frustration on me. But, almost grinning at how I was about to mess with that, I reached for his ass and lifted myself up, plastering myself against him so he couldn’t give me the punishing strokes.
He made a guttural sound, almost like a growl, and I was moving to meet him so we were both punishing each other. I was doing it to piss him off, and he knew it, growling before he took charge. A hand came around me, and he flipped me over. I was slammed down on my stomach. I reached up, trying to grab a place to hold on the bed, but he took my ankles and slid me down in one yank.
“Agh!” I squeaked.
His hands were on the insides of my thighs, spreading them. He was back at my entrance.
He slid in, thrusting a little slower, but he was back to fucking me, and goddamn, I gave in, my head falling to the bed.
I lay there, and I enjoyed every second of this as he was pistoning into me.
We came together.
I felt his release at the same time mine ripped through my body. I didn’t think that was planned and half laughed about it, but he lay over my body for a minute. He was gasping for breath. I was doing the same.
My pulse was slowing, normalizing.
He began to pull out, his hand sliding under my legs, but I ceased being aware of anything . . .
I was asleep. Bliss.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ASHTON
We’d slept through the rest of the morning.
I was sitting on the edge of the bed. Molly was still conked out behind me. She’d fallen asleep after our last time, so I’d moved her, positioning her back under the sheets, but I couldn’t sleep. My body was a mix of satisfaction, exhaustion, and also readiness for whatever was to come.
I liked this next stage. Not in a Mafia war, but in our businesses. I enjoyed where the next move was ours to make, where our adversary was wary, where we were the predators. But the stakes were different here.
They’d hit us last night, and before we’d even retired to our separate bedrooms, Trace and I had already coordinated our attack. Each of us still handled what our families handled before, with Trace’s family covering transportation and distribution and mine handling the cops and higher-ups, but it was different now that he and I were the heads. We could coordinate better. There was no more needed time to call for a meeting or to decipher if that was necessary. Trace and I just did it. Together. We made the decisions where to hit, how to hit, whose men would do the hits. We no longer had “boards” or “uncles” to get permission from in order to make an order. Our men were dispatched with their missions, and a part of me was up, waiting for the notice that they were successful.