Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72516 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72516 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
He stopped when he was in the center of the room, his hands moving to his jacket. He heard what I said and savored the echo. His jacket fell to the floor before he unbuttoned his shirt. “Missed me?”
“So much.”
He let his shirt fall to the floor before he reached the bed. He stood with his knees against the frame, his chiseled chest strong and powerful. Even in the dark, the lines intersecting the muscles was prominent. He was all strength and no weakness.
I rose to my knees and ran my hands up his chest, feeling the smooth skin under the grooves of muscle. My nails scratched him lightly because I knew he enjoyed the pain. “Did you miss me?”
“We both did.” His hands went to my ass and kneaded it, feeling my cheeks and pulling them apart. He pressed his cock into my stomach, his erection defined in his boxers.
“I don’t want you to work tomorrow.” I wanted to wake up beside him and stay there all day. I wanted to make love and never stop. I wanted to feel him inside me constantly, claiming me for the rest of time.
He lost his resolve as he squeezed my ass in his bare hands. “No work tomorrow.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my face close to his. “Now show me how much you missed me.”
He immediately responded to the command, his eyes darkened and his body tensing. He gripped my ass harder then played with my thong. His mouth moved along my jaw without kissing me until he reached my neck. He gave me a small kiss on the warm skin, teasing me relentlessly. His fingers curved around my ass until they found my entrance. Slowly, they pressed into my slit and felt my moisture greet him. He moaned quietly against my ear. “You got started without me.”
“Maybe a little foreplay...”
His face moved back to mine. “Think of me?”
“Always.”
His eyes darkened in approval before he grabbed me and threw me on the bed. My back hit the mattress and my knees fell apart. He stripped off his trousers and boxers before he crawled on top of me, his hard cock oozing with pre-cum. He positioned himself on top of me and immediately shoved his long length inside me, stretching me wide apart and making me cry out. “You’re not allowed to think of anyone else but me—ever.”
That was a command I could obey. “Yes, master.”
***
We sat together in his study and read before the fire. He sat alone in his armchair with a decanter of brandy beside him. A hardback book was in his hands, and he read with his fingers resting against his bottom lip. The thoughtful expression made him look even sexier.
I tried to focus on my book but my eyes kept returning to him. I’d rather read him than the story in my hands. The flames crackled in the hearth and supplied the soothing music. He always had a fire going in whatever room he occupied—even in the midst of summer.
My eyes turned to the paintings on the wall, the ones I’d seen before. They were unusual because they were made of buttons and paint. On the one occasion I was going to ask about them, something else came up. “Crow?”
“Hmm?” He didn’t take his eyes off the page. His ankle rested on the opposite knee and he wore his gray sweats with a black t-shirt, his strong chest filling out the fabric.
“Can I ask you something?”
He pulled his gaze away from the story and stared at me.
I turned to the paintings on the wall. “Who made those?” I suspected it was someone he knew. They didn’t match the rest of the artwork in the house, and they didn’t match Crow’s taste either.
He shut the book and rested it on his thigh. His eyes were glued to the first painting, the one with the vineyards fading into the background. With a stoic expression, he stared. His eyes didn’t darken or lighten in response. Whatever he was thinking was too private to share. “Vanessa.”
I watched his face, seeing the sadness enter his eyes at her memory. He looked resigned, defeated. “They’re beautiful.” Now I wished I hadn’t asked him this dreaded question. It brought him more pain than he was willing to show.
“She was an artist. Ever since she was little, she liked to paint. When she lived with me she spent her time on the balcony painting the scenery before her. And without asking, she put up the pieces around the house. They weren’t my to my taste but I never told her to take them down. After a few weeks, I found myself staring at them endlessly. Whenever I was in a bad mood they made me feel better. I’d come to accept them—even loved them. After she passed away...they were all I have left of her. So I could never move them.”