Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
I struggle harder, swinging my legs, the leather groaning overhead. “Stop! What are you doing?”
“You know what I’m doing. You made me do this. Made me so fucking hard.”
Before I can respond, Tripp is yanking my dangling body up against him with a growl, ripping the thong down my thighs with his left hand, letting it fall into the sand. I’m completely naked now, and he palms my backside in a grip that is somehow raunchy and reverent at the same time. Stroking. Manhandling. His eyes are bright, communicating a state that is beyond arousal, and I bury myself in them while he slaps my ass. And I love the way it feels. The reverberation. The sharp daggers of lust unleashed by the cracks of his palm.
My neck has loosened, my head lolling. My ears buzz with sound.
I’m trapped by the belt. I’m trapped by the race my body is running to an unknown finish line—and I almost reach that elusive point when Tripp finishes spanking me, then wedges his hips between my thighs, yanking them up around his waist.
“I should fuck you like a rag doll,” he says, mashing his teeth up against my mouth. “Shouldn’t I, you little virgin sacrifice?”
Alarmingly, perhaps, my brain screams yes.
“No,” I choke out. “No!”
He looks me in the eye and…I feel it.
He’s rubbing his erection through my flesh, the sound of my wetness harmonizing with the crash of ocean waves.
“You’d be so tight,” he says, licking the side of my face, chin to temple. “But I’d still nut so deep it would be disrespectful, huh?”
That smooth, bulbous tip slips over a spot at the top of my slit, and I cry out, every cell in my body going on high alert.
Oh.
He loves that, too.
Seeing my pleasure.
Seeing me struggle.
The contradiction of him sucks me down like a swirling eddy, and suddenly, we’re kissing. We’re kissing while he massages that sensitive place between my legs with the tip of his erection, moving that fleshy crown in tight circles, my excessive wetness making the friction so slippery. So hot.
“Yeah, I should fuck you, but I won’t…” He exhales jaggedly against my mouth. “I won’t, because you’re such a sweet angel, aren’t you? You’re my fucking angel.”
“Yes,” I gasp.
His expression is tortured as he presses his forehead against mine, his breathing coming in giant pants. “I want to give you an orgasm as much as I want to…do bad things.”
“I know,” I whisper, kissing him, opening my thighs wider to feel his strokes deeper.
Deeper.
Right on the verge of being inside me. Stopping just short.
“Say the word. Don’t let me do bad things,” he begs against my mouth. “If I fucked you right now, I’d rip you to pieces.”
A light blinds me.
It comes from my mind. A part of my mind that’s connected to my body. I’ve hit some kind of feverish peak, and I convulse with the intensity, my sex drawing in on itself so aggressively I scream.
If I fucked you right now, I’d rip you to pieces.
Sensual teeth rake through my nervous system, and I tremble from the onslaught, my jaw clenching on a call of his name, my muscles shaking, and oh God, oh God, the damp ribbon that flows from me in degrees matches the spasms of my flesh in a high I didn’t know existed.
Tripp falls to his knees in front of me and licks at my release with panting grunts, moaning in appreciation of the taste, his hand riding up and down a shaft I can see for the first time is enormous.
My intuition tells me to struggle against my restraints…
…and I do.
I yank hard and beg to be let go. And Tripp leans back on his ankles and watches me writhe and attempt to free myself, his fist tightening on the trunk of flesh, up and down, faster and faster, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. He watches me yank and twist in awe from his kneeling position in the sand, a groan rocking him, putting him in a state of visible agony, until finally ropes of white spend belt out of him, landing in stripes along the sand.
“Oh God. Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” He doubles over onto his hands and knees and continues to abuse himself, his back heaving up and down, rippling beneath his shirt. “Oh my God, Vida. I can’t stop coming. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s so good. It’s so good.”
After what feels like a full minute, Tripp’s hand stops moving between his legs, and he struggles to his feet, looking sated and dazed, zipping himself up hastily. Panic and concern transform an expression that was so fierce only moments earlier, and he lurches for me, his hands unsteady as he works on releasing my wrists from the knotted belt.
“Are you okay, angel?” He plants kisses on my face. “Vida. Angel. Talk to me.”