Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
What does he taste like?
What would it feel like to be owned by Rome Blackburn, for just one sex-filled night?
I shift against the wall, my legs rubbing together to ease the friction, a low throb inside my center launching a crusade against my traitorous heart.
It wants more, damn her. It wants him.
Rome leans in.
Bends at the neck.
Breath nicking the bare column of my neck and finally, lips gently move across my skin, setting off a wave of goose bumps up and down my arms, collarbone, and legs.
His hot whisper is in my ear now, low. “Something is bound to slip, Peyton.” Long, dramatic pause as he runs his nose up the column of my neck. “Something is bound to break.”
“W-what’s bound to break?” I whisper back, unable to keep my gaze steady. That beautiful nose of his leaves my neck and grazes my cheek.
Gently.
Lips inches away, Rome’s forehead rests against mine, and he takes a break to compose himself, deft fingers millimeters from tangling themselves in my hair.
I want to reach out and touch him the way he’s touching me.
I want to run my hand up his chest; explore the soft fabric of his cotton shirt. Fiddle with the waist and pull it up; expose the tan and muscled chest I know is hidden under the thick fabric of his designer t-shirt.
Desperately, I want nothing more than to loosen his belt, undo his pants, and shove them down his hips until they’re falling to the floor. I want to caress him, hold the weight of his arousal in my hand, stroke him, lick him, and suck him.
Pleasure him until he can’t take it anymore—right here, in his office—until his tightly wound control slips and he has no choice but to take me over his desk and make every fantasy of mine come true.
He moves his mouth to the other side of my head where his nose leads the way down my cheek to my ear.
“How long have you wanted me, Peyton, hmm?” His voice is deep—so sinister I feel light-headed with every sentence. It leaves me breathless just hearing my name fall from his lips.
“How long have I wanted you?”
Years. I’ve wanted you for years.
He breathes in and nods. “Yes, how long?”
My palms press against the wall, my chest rising and falling, my nipples so incredibly hard.
“I can’t re-remember,” I stutter. Lie.
“Ballpark it for me. Humor me.”
“Maybe, um . . .” I lean forward, catching a whiff of him. God, he smells so freaking good. “Uh, a couple years.”
“How many? Be specific.”
“Do details turn you on?”
“Yes.”
“Three years.”
He sharply lifts his head from its bent position, brows shooting into his hairline. “Three years?”
“Give or take.” My lip gets caught between my teeth.
He makes a humming sound and moves one of his hands to my hip, his thumb pressing into my hipbone, anchoring me against the wall.
“And during those three years, how many times have you envisioned me pressing you against this wall, spreading your legs, and fucking you while you bite down on my tie to keep quiet?”
My eyes squeeze shut as I try to catch my breath, the erratic beat of my heart making it difficult. I try to wiggle under his grasp but his hand pinned to my hip doesn’t let me move. The need for him between my legs grows stronger and stronger.
I swallow hard. “Almost every damn day,” I answer honestly. “Given a few different positions.”
He takes a moment, letting my words sink into the silence. When he speaks, it’s rough and ragged. “Then what are you waiting for? If this is what you want, take it.”
Take it.
He makes it sound so easy.
As if my entire career doesn’t fall on this one little decision. To him, it’s nothing, probably just another random fuck, but this random fuck is built on a truckload of sexual tension.
For me, there is so much riding on this.
If I give in, if I take what I’ve wanted for so damn long, it might be one of the most passionate moments of my life but with huge consequences awaiting me post orgasm.
As much as I would like to say I trust him, I don’t. Like he said, he’s ruthless, and even though I’m desperate to know what it feels like to have his lips all over my body while he’s buried deep inside me, I can’t take that chance.
Do I trust him not to fuck me over after? Or to fuck over Gen?
He’s angry. Probably embarrassed, and even though it would be good at the time, I can’t give in to this all-consuming passion in the off-chance that he could ruin my reputation after.
Pulling back, meeting my gaze with his, he searches my eyes and for a brief moment, I see it, that vulnerability, the uncertainty he carries deep within his soul that he doesn’t dare show anyone. But I see it.