Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
That fucking amazing mouth.
I pull her toward my body and push my erection into her belly. “Feel that?” I whisper, tugging on her earlobe—God, her flesh is like silk beneath my tongue—with my teeth. “Feel what you do to me. You won’t leave me wanting tonight, Skye. I’m going to fuck you.”
I let her go and open the door to my bedroom.
She walks forward, her demeanor almost trance-like.
Not the first time a woman has reacted with awe at seeing my bedroom. It is truly spectacular, decorated in mahogany with navy-blue and ivory accents. All my furniture is custom designed and my bedding made of the finest silk imported from India. But the pièce de résistance is the window—which is actually a whole wall that overlooks the Boston Harbor.
Skye walks toward it, still moving as if an unseen force is manipulating her.
Little does she know that unseen force will soon be me.
I stand next to her, looking out over the yachts in the marina.
“One-way glass,” I say. “We can see out, but no one can see in.”
“Is one of those yours?” she asks.
“The Galatea, yeah. Ben’s got her out tonight.”
“Ben your brother?”
“Only Ben I know. He’s more into the boat thing than I am.”
“How can you not be into the boat thing? They’re so beautiful.” She sighs softly.
“They’re a damned lot of work.” True words, but I want to take Skye out on the Galatea. Just the way her eyes are shining makes me want to buy her a fucking armada.
“But don’t you—”
I tug on her ponytail, resisting the urge to give it a harder yank to bring her to her knees. “Do you really want to talk about boats right now?”
She turns and assesses the decor with wide eyes. She seems to zero in on my headboard—or rather, the notches and blunt metal objects placed just so. The design is my own, and each piece serves a vital purpose.
One I hope to share with her.
She turns and regards my highboy dresser and chest and then the mahogany wardrobe next to my walk-in closet. I keep secrets in that wardrobe—secrets I’m definitely going to share with Skye.
She turns toward the opposite wall where two wingback chairs in navy with gold flecks sit. Then she returns her gaze to the bed.
“This is amazing,” she says.
Oh, she has no idea. I’ll introduce her to all the pleasures of pain and submission. And if she takes to my lessons well…
New York.
Black Rose Underground.
But that’s way in the future.
Damn. The future. I don’t think of women in terms of the future, so why the hell am I considering any of this?
For now, I’m going to fuck her into tomorrow.
“It’s a nice place to come home to at night,” I finally reply.
“I’ll say. If this were mine, I’m not sure I’d ever get out of bed.”
I resist the urge to groan as I remove my suit jacket. “I like the sound of that.”
I stand in my white shirt, tie still knotted but loosened, pants, and glossy black leather oxfords. I don’t plan on undressing anytime soon, even though my cock has other plans and really wants to be free.
“Take off your clothes,” I say, “slowly.”
Will she obey?
I swallow as I wait to find out.
Then she begins to unbutton her blouse.
I warm all over, and I’m abruptly aware of the thumping of my heart.
One button. Two buttons. Three—
Was slowly my idea? Big mistake.
I yank the shirttail out from her jeans and finish the job by ripping the two halves apart. Buttons fly, one pinging the wardrobe door but most of them falling quietly onto the plush ivory carpeting.
“Couldn’t wait,” I say huskily.
Her nipples press against the lace of her bra.
Nice. She likes it when I take charge. When I get rough.
I flick one nipple over the fabric. Time to see more of her gorgeous flesh. “Take it off,” I growl. “I want to see those tits.”
Again, she obeys. Damn. She fucking obeys.
This is going to work between us. Sweet Skye Manning, who’s focused and prepared and always in charge, is going to submit to me.
Fuck.
She unclasps her bra slowly, eases her arms out, and lets it fall to the floor at her feet. Her ample breasts fall gently against her chest.
They’re even more beautiful than I imagined. A C cup, I’m guessing, and perfectly round and taut, her nipples pinkish-brown buds against larger-than-average areolas.
I lower my eyelids and groan. My tie isn’t binding, but it’s too much now. I need freedom from any restriction around my neck, freedom to enjoy the rest of Skye’s striptease. I remove the tie and toss it on the floor. Then I unbutton the first two buttons of my crisp white shirt. Yes, freedom. I inhale deeply, resolving to soothe my pounding heart.
I’m in deep with this one. Too fucking deep. I know this already, but I have no intention of stopping. My cock aches, and I desperately need release.