Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
He eats me hungrily. Desperately. And I do the same to the ice cream.
I scoop it out of the tub without a spoon, hopeful the coolness of the frozen treat will simmer the fire raging inside me.
The wildfire in my stomach is burning out of control, and I moan as if the aftermath won’t be catastrophic.
“Mm,” I moan when Nero licks up a droplet of the mess dribbling off my fingers and careening down my stomach. “Do that again.”
“I’d rather eat you,” he answers two seconds before he circles his tongue around my ice-cream-laden fingers, and he sucks down hard.
My thighs quiver as the fire in my stomach augments.
I’m seconds from combusting.
I think about the combined flavors of our desserts. It makes me so horny that before I can consider the possible outcome of my rampant need, I cup his bearded jaw and kiss him hard on the mouth.
We moan in sync, the mix of flavors more enticing than I could have ever imagined.
I’m not the only one who agrees.
Seconds after reloading his fingers with the ice cream, Nero stuffs them into my mouth.
I swallow down only half of the creamy goodness before his tongue scoops out the leftovers.
We go turn for turn until all the ice cream is gone and Nero has no choice but to return his head to between my legs.
He tongues my clit with controlled focus, driving me wild with need.
Rolling my hips, I grind against his mouth as he expertly eats me.
Pleasure skates across my skin as his name rips from my mouth.
When fireworks build, I try to hold back the urge, to savor my treat as if it’s meant to be a rarity. But before I can fully swallow the desire to climax, the brilliance of our exchange overwhelms me.
I come with a hoarse cry, my body limp and pliable and my tremors as vocal as my moans.
Nero’s drive doesn’t waver in the slightest.
He toys with my clit while stuffing two fingers deep inside me, giving the walls of my vagina something to cling to as it rides the crazy wave threatening to pull me under.
His breath is hot and urgent against my drenched sex as he stretches my orgasm from one to two. He curls my toes with perfectly timed licks and mind-hazing furls of his fingers, and I am helpless to stop him.
I merely watch, enamored by his determined focus.
My head falls back as a rush of heated blood pulses around my body. I’m lost to the sensation, his unyielding attention too much for my body to bear.
I come again, the rush of euphoria shooting from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. My ears ring in the aftermath of my screams, and poor Tempy is startled. She’s never heard such noises leave my mouth, and she has been my rescue dog for over half my married life.
Roy thought getting a dog would dampen my wish to become a mother.
It didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I love her any less.
Upon hearing the girlie laugh I can’t hold back when Nero lifts me into his arms, Tempy licks her chapped mouth before she burrows her head into my pants and falls back asleep.
I’m so smitten by the ease of Nero’s lift that I don’t realize how intimately he knows the floor plan of my home until he maneuvers us out of the kitchen and through the living room before he climbs the stairs to the loft-like bedroom.
I’m about to ask him about it, when his trip on the toolkit I left out has his focus shifting from sampling every inch of my mouth to staring at the bed our once other halves used as an impromptu set for a porno.
Our lust bubble has been burst.
Or so I believe.
With his head slanted in a way that makes him appear more innocent than murderous, Nero asks, “Need help dismantling it?”
8
NERO
When Miranda wiggles as if my offer means I need to place her down, I shake my head before directing my steps to the bed responsible for the massive crinkle between her dark brows.
It doesn’t affect me as it does Miranda. Why? I was married for four weeks. Three of those weeks I stayed at Clark’s, the offsite compound of the Popov crew.
I tried to make my marriage work, but the odds were stacked against us more than a Married at First Sight contestant. Tasha and I have nothing in common. We are complete opposites, and although Tasha could see the signs as obviously as I could, she didn’t want an annulment.
She wants a payday.
She may have gotten one—not a lot, but something is better than nothing—if she had left her side gig on the back burner for a few more weeks.
Only Fans is Tasha’s bread and butter. She makes a decent living. As much as a runner, enforcer, and number three of one of the biggest crime syndicates in the world? Not fucking close. But I’m happy for her not to know that until after the divorce papers are signed.