Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I kiss my way down her stomach, slow and steady, feeling her tense, then relax. I want her undone. I want her desperate. I want to strip her down to nothing but sensation.
I use my mouth, my hands, my tongue on her clit, until she’s gasping, writhing, clutching the sheets. I take my time exploring her depths, tasting the sweet slickness of her folds. She is so wet for me, and so warm. I want to bury myself inside her and hide there forever, but this isn’t about me.
I taste and nip and tease as her breath becomes increasingly erratic. Her voice breaks on my name as I pull every moan from her lips, every tremble from her body. I don’t stop. I don’t let up. I give her every bit of pleasure I can because nothing else in the world matters more to me than watching her fall apart.
When she comes, her head is thrown back, her fingers tangled in my hair, and her thighs are trembling against my shoulders. And still, I’m not done. I crawl back up her body, kissing her jaw, her neck, her lips again. Her eyes are glassy, her breath uneven, and when she looks up at me, something in her seems to crack wide open.
“Damien,” she whispers, voice raw. “Please.”
I don’t ask what she wants. I already know. I strip the rest of my clothes without looking away from her. When I press against her again, skin to skin, I feel her gasp beneath me. My hands frame her face as I sink my cock into her slowly, letting her feel every inch.
Her eyes roll back and her body arches, and fuck if I don’t want to come right there. But I won’t fall over the edge until she does for a second time. This is still all about her.
Her walls clench around me as if she were sculpted specifically for me. She always takes me so perfectly, it’s maddening. I move slowly at first, kissing her as we fall into rhythm. Her hands roam my back, my shoulders, my jaw. Every time she says my name, it makes me crazier. Hungrier. But I hold back. I don’t want to rush. I want this to last.
I want her to remember it.
She clings to me tighter, her nails digging in, her breath coming faster. I feel her orgasm building again, feel the way her body draws me deeper, her mouth finding mine as the second wave takes her.
When she comes again, I follow almost immediately. My self-control is good, but it isn’t inhuman. I was barely holding on by a thread as it was. We fall together, tangled and breathless, our hearts pounding in tandem. I pull her against my chest and draw lazy patterns on her back with my fingers.
“That was incredible,” she whispers.
“That was just the start,” I promise.
19
LYRA
The days slip past slow and unhurried. I’ve stopped checking the time altogether. I haven’t touched my phone in days, and I haven’t missed it at all. Out here, there’s no schedule, no deadlines, no stress whatsoever. Apart from checking in with Becca via email to tell her I’m safe and I’ll be home soon, I haven’t had any contact with the outside world. And it’s been surprisingly wonderful.
Damien and I sleep in late, and when we wake, it’s to the sound of the ocean or the rustle of palm leaves brushing the windows. Some mornings, he pulls me into him before I can even speak, kissing my shoulder or my throat, as if he can’t wake up until he’s tasted my skin. Other mornings, we just lie there tangled in the sheets, holding each other. He makes me feel safe and seen, which makes the secret I’m holding feel even heavier.
I still haven’t said anything about the baby. Every time I try, the words catch in my throat. I tell myself it’s not the right moment, that I’ll do it later. Later never comes.
Truthfully, I’m afraid. If I tell him, he’ll probably shut down. He’ll pull away with that cool, unreadable expression he wears when something displeases him. He’ll look at me and see only a problem that needs to be solved.
With his money, it would be easy for him to write me off for good. He could buy me a house somewhere far away and tell me never to contact him again. He could give me a golden parachute and disappear from my life as if he never existed. Hell, he could leave me alone on this island in a stunning villa with a staff at my beck and call.
But I’d lose him.
So I keep my mouth shut.
Instead, I let myself fall into the fantasy.
I swim in the sea while he watches from the shore, arms folded, mouth curved in that rare smile that makes my heart clench. We eat fruit so fresh it tastes unreal, drink lemonade by the pool, and fall asleep to the sound of the ocean through open windows. He touches me constantly, his hand always finding mine, or his fingers running absentmindedly down my back or along my arms.