Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 35507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
"Christ, Oakley." His voice has gone to gravel. "Look at you. Standing there letting me see you. You have any idea what that does?"
"Show me."
He drops to his knees.
The picture of Colt Hawthorne on the floor of a safe house, looking up at me with his mouth already parted, almost takes my legs out. He pops the button on my jeans and works them down with my underwear in one impatient drag. I step out. He grips my hips and presses his mouth to the inside of my thigh, then higher, then higher, until I have to grab his shoulder or sit down on his face without being invited.
"On the bed," he says. "Back. Knees open. I want to see what I'm eating."
I go. The blanket is cold and then it isn't, because he follows, shoulders spreading my thighs, stubble scraping sensitive skin. He looks at me there for a long, blistering second. Then he puts his mouth on me.
The first stroke of his tongue is slow and filthy. I jolt. His forearm bands across my hips and pins me still.
"Easy. I've got you. Let me hear it."
I hear myself. A broken sound. He hums against me, pleased, and licks again, flatter, then pointed, circling the place that makes my vision narrow. One thick finger strokes through the wetness he's making and doesn't push in yet. He teases. He learns. Every time my thighs try to close he shoulders them wider.
"So wet for me already. All that mouth on the road and this is what you were hiding. Sweet thing. I could stay right here and ruin you before I even get my cock out."
"Colt."
"That's it. Say it when I do this."
He sucks. Gentle and then not. My back arches off the bed. His finger slides into me, thick and careful, and my body takes it after every locked door and every almost. He adds a second when I rock down onto the first. His tongue stays on that swollen peak and his fingers curl and the room shrinks to the wet heat of his mouth and the stretch of his hand.
Snow ticks the window. The fire in the other room ticks as it wakes. I come apart on his tongue with my fists in his hair and his name wrecked in my throat. The peak rolls and rolls. He doesn't lift off. He works me through it until I'm shaking and too sensitive and still trying to drag him up by the flannel because I want his mouth on mine while I'm still clenching on nothing.
He comes up shining and smug and so hard when I palm him through his jeans that he drops his forehead to my stomach and swears.
"Please," I say.
"Please what. Use that smart mouth for me."
"Please fuck me. I want you in me. I want it now."
He stands long enough to strip. Flannel. Thermal. Jeans. Boots kicked somewhere I don't care about. Colt without clothes is a study in work and want, chest hair, a scar along one rib, his cock heavy in his fist while he looks at me spread on the bed he carried me to.
"Condom's in the kit," he says. "I can stop."
"Don't you dare stop. I'm on birth control. I'm clean. If you are, I want you bare."
His eyes go black. "I'm clean. You sure?"
"I'm sure. Come here."
He does what I say. He kisses me and I taste myself on his mouth, salt and heat, and I should be shy about that. I'm not. He notches against me and pushes in on a slow, shaking stroke that steals the air from both of us. I'm tight around him. He's a lot. He holds still when he's seated, breathing against my cheek, giving me the second I need.
"Fuck. Oakley. You feel..." He loses the rest of the sentence in a groan. "Hot. Perfect. Taking me so well. That's my girl. That's it."
I hook my calves around his hips. "Move."
He moves. Deep and measured at first, a long drag out that makes me feel every inch, then a roll back in that seats him against a place that sparks behind my navel. I ask for harder with my nails and my mouth at his throat. He gives it. The bedframe knocks the wall in a steady, filthy rhythm. Snow rushes the glass in a white roar. His chest hair scrapes my breasts. His mouth finds the hinge of my jaw, then the tendon in my neck and he kisses me there. He gets a hand under my ass and changes the angle and I see white that has nothing to do with the storm. My heels dig into the backs of his thighs. Sweat slickens the place where his stomach meets mine. Each thrust wrings a sound out of me I would mock in daylight and can't spare the breath to mock now.