Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
I don’t want this to ever stop, but I’m on the verge already.
I can’t stop moaning or saying his name. I’m a broken record panting out yes and fuck and River, and it’s all just so damn good. Just so intense as he returns his mouth to my dick, and my body heats to inferno levels. Then I burn even hotter as he slinks down, settling between my legs. Pushing them apart, he wraps his arms under my thighs, and tugs me even closer to his face.
River looks so insanely sexy, I think I might die from lust. He’s got me, and he’s taking me apart with his mouth.
His sounds electrify me.
His groans of pleasure thrill me.
And the tight wire in me snaps.
All those noises, all those moans, all that evidence of his need for me cuts my razor-thin hold on this moment, and I detonate.
“Coming,” I warn him. I curl my hands tighter around his head, and then I lose it.
Panting.
Breathing ridiculously hard.
Gasping for air.
And River delights, just utterly delights, in sucking the last remnants of my orgasm with a wet, loud pop.
He raises his face, his eyes wild, his lips red and bruised, his expression filthy.
“C’mere,” I say, beckoning.
River climbs up me, and I wrap my arms around his smooth back, pull him close. “BMW?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Bugatti.”
I kiss him again.
Tasting myself on his lips.
Tasting us.
And all at once, I’m both incredibly satisfied and terribly hungry for more.
This must be what it means to not get enough. That’s how I feel—like I just can’t get enough of him.
15
RIVER
“So you really do want me to become a popsicle,” I say, casting my new lover a skeptical look as we stand by the door to the deck, poised.
“I thought it was a melted popsicle,” Owen says, giving a gentle tug on the towel around my waist, but not enough to jerk it off. “Besides, it’s going to feel really good.”
“But what if I die on the way from the house to the hot tub?” I ask, pointing to the twenty feet I have to traverse in the subarctic conditions. “That feels like a real possibility.”
“You didn’t die when you went out there earlier to check it out, did you? Are you a ghost? Did a ghost give me a blow job? Holy shit. I just had a good blow job from a ghost,” Owen says.
“Yes, and that’s why it was so otherworldly,” I say, as we debate whether to cross the short path from the house to the hot tub. Or rather, I debate. Owen seems convinced this is a good idea.
Steam wafts from the jacuzzi like an invitation. He turned the hot tub on fifteen minutes ago.
But the path to it is a veritable icebox. It’s twenty-eight degrees, which is forty degrees less than I like. “What if we get locked outside?”
Owen jiggles the doorknob. “The door is unlocked. We’ll be able to get back inside. Also, hello? There’s a code. So we’re good.”
“We better get back inside. I’m going to have to sleep curled up by the fire all night.”
“Everything is going to be fine, you sun worshipper. And the water is going to feel amazing. Didn’t you just want to have fun tonight?” he says, nudging me. “Make the best of being snowed in?”
Fun.
This is fun.
We’re just having fun.
The word tugs on my heart a bit, because I think I want a little more than fun.
But I don’t want to be a buzzkill.
“That is the operative word, isn’t it? That’s what tonight is all about, right? Fun?”
“That’s what you said,” he tosses back, in a tone I can’t read.
“True. I did say that. And I’m having a blast,” I say, but I also want to tell him that the kitchen and the fireplace was so much more than fun. That pleasuring him and being pleasured felt like more than just sex. That it felt intimate. That it’s making me think of all sorts of arrows being fired by Eros. “So, the hot tub is part of making the best of tonight?”
Owen takes a beat, and in those few silent seconds, I swear the cogs are whirring in his mind, then he nods. “When else are you going to be trapped in a cabin in the snow with a jacuzzi just waiting for you and a hot guy to join you in it?”
I make a mental note that he didn’t answer the question.
But I also don’t press.
There might be a reason he didn’t answer.
Besides, he makes a damn good point. Will I ever have this chance with him again? “Let’s do it.” I open the back door and a blast of arctic air hits me. “I’m dead. It happened. You witnessed my death tonight at nine p.m. on a Friday.”
Owen grabs my hand and links his fingers through mine, and tingles whoosh down my back—from him holding my hand as we run to the hot tub.