Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Yes. She’ll do.
* * *
It’s two in the morning when I let us both into my flat. I take Leticia’s coat, and she turns immediately and wraps her arms around my neck. “Let’s go to bed, Posh Boy,” she whispers, and kisses me. Hard. No preliminaries. Her coat is still in my hands, and I have to steady myself against the wall to stop us both from falling. Her attack takes me by surprise. Perhaps she’s more pissed than I thought. She tastes of lipstick and Jägermeister—an intriguing combination. I thread my fingers through her hair and tug, freeing my mouth.
“All good things, sweetheart,” I chide against her lips. “Let me put your coat down.”
“Fuck my coat,” she says, and kisses me again. All tongue.
I’d rather fuck you.
“We’re not going to make it to the bedroom at this rate.” I put my hands on her shoulders and gently push her away.
“Let me see your place, then, model-slash-photographer-slash-DJ,” she teases, her soft Irish accent a complete contrast to her direct manner. I wonder if she’ll be as forthright in bed as I follow her down the hallway into the drawing room, her heels clicking on the wooden floor.
“Do you act, too? Great view, by the way,” she says as she glances through the wall of glass that looks out over the Thames. “Nice piano,” she adds, and turns to face me, her eyes alight with excitement. “Have you fucked on it?”
Lord, she has a foul mouth.
“Not recently.” I dump her coat on the sofa. “Not sure I want to right now. I’d rather bed you.” I ignore her jibe about my current lack of a stable career. I haven’t told her I have an empire to run. She smiles, her lipstick smudged and no doubt smeared over my mouth. The thought displeases me, and I run my fingers over my lips. She saunters toward me and tugs the lapels of my jacket, forcing me forward.
“Okay, Posh Boy, show me what you can do.” She puts her hands on my chest and rakes her nails over my sternum to the edge of my jacket.
Shit! It’s almost painful. She has scarlet talons, not nails, talons that match her lipstick. She slides my jacket off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and starts undoing the buttons on my shirt. The mood she’s in, I’m relieved that she takes her time and doesn’t just rip my shirt open—I like this shirt! Slipping it off me, she lets it fall to my feet and digs her nails into my shoulders. Deliberately.
“Ah!” I hiss in pain.
“Cool ink,” she says as her hands travel from my shoulders down my arms and toward the waistband of my jeans, her nails leaving tracks across my stomach.
Ow! Boy, she’s aggressive.
I grab her hand and tug her into my arms, kissing her roughly. “Let’s go to bed,” I say against her mouth, and before she can answer, I take her hand and haul her after me to the bedroom. There she pushes me toward the bed and again rakes her nails over my belly as her fingers find the top button of my jeans.
Fuck! She likes it rough.
I flinch and catch her hands in front of her in a viselike grip, but in reality I’m avoiding her nails.
You want to play rough? I can, too.
“Play nice,” I warn. “And you first!” I release her, moving her away so I have a good view. “Strip. Now,” I order.
Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she puts her hands on her hips, her mouth set in an amused challenge.
“Go on,” I urge.
Leticia’s eyes darken, and she pauses. “Say please,” she whispers.
I smirk. “Please.”
She laughs. “I love your posh accent.”
“It’s just an accident of birth, sweetheart. Keep your boots on,” I add.
She returns my smirk, reaches behind her, and casually unzips her tight leather dress. Wriggling her hips from side to side, she shimmies out of the dress and lets it slip down the length of her boots. I smile. She looks incredible. Slim, with small, firm breasts, she’s wearing black French knickers and a matching bra and the thigh-high boots. Stepping out of her dress, she sashays toward me with a beckoning, sexy smile and grabs my hand. With surprising force she tugs me to the bed, then places her hands on my chest and pushes me hard so that I sprawl on top of the quilt.
“Take them off,” she commands, and points to my trousers as she stands over me, placing her feet wide apart.
“You do it,” I mouth.
She needs no further prompting and crawls up the bed to sit astride me, grinding down on my crotch. She drags her nails down my abdomen toward my fly.
Ow!
Fuck this! She’s dangerous.
I sit up suddenly, taking her by surprise, and flip her onto her back, straddling her and pinning her arms down on either side of her head. She struggles beneath me, attempting to buck me off.