Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Don’t ever pull that shit again.” She didn’t slap me, but she gave me a light smack on the cheek the way you would pop a dog on the nose.
She continued to ride my dick slowly, but I gripped her hips and forced her to still on my length because I was seriously just a second away from blowing my load. I could honestly say I’d never been this fucking turned on in my life. Something about her ferocity and the way she hit me drove me fucking wild. I moaned. “You’re still mad.”
“Yes, I’m still fucking mad.” She shoved my hands off her and rode my dick again, arms circling my neck as she started to bounce on my length like she was on a fucking trampoline.
“Hit me.” My hands slipped underneath her ass, and I gripped her strong cheeks as I helped her ride me.
“I’m not going to hit you.”
“Hit me.”
She slapped me across the face just like I wanted, palm to the cheek with enough force to make a slapping sound.
I felt the swelling of the skin, felt the electric pulse of pain register from my nerves, felt the rush of sexual adrenaline pound throughout my entire body. I spanked her ass. “Show me how fucking mad you are.”
She slapped my cheek again as she continued to ride me.
I moaned because it hurt so good. “Fuck.” I lifted and tugged her down onto my length over and over, harder and faster, just inches from the finish line. A storm of heat hit me in the face and burned the rest of my body, and I fell into a climax so hot, I felt as if I’d just entered the underworld. “Fuck, baby.” My breath left my lungs as I came inside her, feeling a rush so intense that it turned every experience of my past into an old black-and-white photo, while a stream of color now hit me in the face. The single best climax I’d ever had—and it didn’t cost me a damn thing.
“Don’t fuck with me again.” She left my lap, and my wet dick slapped against my stomach, her cream built up at the base. She put her thong back on and then grabbed my shirt from the floor, pulling it over her head. It stopped above her knees, practically a nightdress. She ran her fingers through her hair as she walked out and headed into the kitchen.
Winded even though I hadn’t done a damn thing, I sank into the couch and lay there, feeling a sense of calm I could only feel with a gunshot wound in my arm or a bloody knife in my hand after a fight.
I listened to Francesca move about in the kitchen and then registered the smell of food in my nose. I wanted to get up and join her, but Francesca had given me a knockout punch that left me incapacitated.
“Dinner’s ready,” she called from the kitchen.
I took a slow breath before I got to my feet and pulled on my boxers. Leaving my jeans and boots on the floor, I headed upstairs to where I’d stowed my bag in the closet, containing a couple changes of clothes and other essentials. I put on a pair of black sweatpants then headed back downstairs, seeing the plates of food she’d put on the table along with the basket of bread and the bottle of wine.
She was already seated and had poured herself a glass of wine.
“Damn, that looks good.” Roasted chicken with potatoes and ripe asparagus. I took the seat across from her, seeing her sitting there in my t-shirt that fell down one shoulder because the neckline was so big.
It was the first time I was seeing her in my clothes, the first time I’d seen any woman wear my t-shirt, and she looked damn good in it. I grabbed the bottle and filled my glass.
She cut into her chicken and took a bite as she stared at me across the table, her eyes still a little angry.
I smirked. “Still mad, huh?”
“Oh, I’m gonna be mad for the rest of the night.”
I took a bite of my food and smiled while I chewed. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, baby.”
“Want some ice for your cheek?”
“Nope.” I loved the way it burned, like my face was on fire. Don Mancini and Leo had given me weird looks when I’d left Francesca’s office, but no one had asked me why my face was so red. If they had, I would have told them the truth.
“You ask your other girls to hit you?”
“No, just you.”
She continued to eat, casting me dark looks.
“You turn me on when you’re angry.”
“Why?”
“Because it shows me how you really feel.” Anger was the rawest feeling known to humankind. It was primal and intoxicating and addictive. Rage was the gate to the adrenaline surge I searched for high and low. “Shows that you’re just as balls deep in this as I am.”