Trophy Wife Read Online Alessandra Torre (Dumont Diaries 0.5-5)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Billionaire, Dark, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Dumont Diaries Series by Alessandra Torre
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Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 74487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
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* * *

“I should have fucked you that first night,” he groans, moving his cock down, his fingers out, the head of him hovering at my opening, his hands gripping my legs as he pushes inside in one smooth motion. He withdraws slowly, watching our union as inch by inch he pulls out, my body weeping at his exit. “If I had known then how perfect you are, I never would have passed on that opportunity. You are too amazing to not fuck at every … available … opportunity.” He pulls the final inches out, my back arching, my eyes begging, his fingers resuming their penetrations.

* * *

“You assume I would have been willing,” I gasp out, a smile across my face.

* * *

He tilts his head, possession in his eyes. “Do you think you could resist?” He positions himself back at my entrance, rubbing his head up and down my wet slit, easing in slightly, then pulling out, taking his stiff head to my swollen clit, brushing it gently.

* * *

“Of course,” I breathe.

* * *

“Bullshit. By the time I finished with you, you would have been begging for my cock.” His smug tone backs up his words, his cock pulling away from me as he strokes it again.

* * *

“Is that so?” Everything in me is centered between my legs. I have forgotten how to breathe, how to move, to think, to do anything but have this man fuck me back into reality.

* * *

“You tell me.” He grabs my legs and lifts them so that they point to the sky, spread and open for him, his unrestrained cock finding its way straight to the source of my need. “Do you need this?”

* * *

I stay silent, my stubbornness combining with the curiosity of wondering what he will do next.

* * *

He moves his hips, the head of him entering, then withdrawing, my need rising and falling and rising as he fucks me with short, half-strokes, his mouth brushing against my calf, his tongue tickling out a pattern against my skin.

* * *

I groan, trying to slide closer, to get more of him inside me, the pleasure just short of enough, my orgasm reaching, straining, but not making the connection.

* * *

“Do. You. Need. This?” He grunts out the words, every other dip of his cock deep, then shallow, then deeper.

* * *

“Yes!” The word explodes from me, a plea for help in a deep hole of pleasure. “So fucking badly, Nathan. Please.”

* * *

He shakes his head, keeping his thrusts short, keeping me hovering on the brink of insanity. “Tell me that you are mine. To use as I wish.”

* * *

I whimper, an ache inside me that is almost painful in its intensity. “I am yours. You are everything.”

* * *

He moans at the words, dropping my legs and moving above me, his movements now unrestrained—full, deep thrusts that arc me higher, higher, higher. His face close to mine, features tight, breath ragged, fast movements that put his cock exactly where, exactly when, and exactly how I need it.

* * *

My orgasm hits—a blinding, waving curve of pleasure, peaking and falling, every thrust bringing me a fresh hit of sensation, breathing life and keeping its momentum, the moment impossibly long, then I am nothing but languid pleasure.

* * *

He doesn’t stop, the drilling force of him bringing me back to the present, my legs wrapping around and gripping the hard muscle of his ass, my hands clutching and nails digging into his back, our bodies meeting in perfect orchestration until his eyes clench. He grunts, giving me four deep, hard thrusts, the proof of his finish shooting inside of me, physical heat pooling as he shudders and then is still.

* * *

“Fuck …” he whispers, hovering above me, his eyes on mine, wonder in them. “You have no idea how incredible that was.” He rolls off me and onto his back, his cock pulling out, my body wanting it the moment it is gone. I roll over, curling up against his side, my hands unstoppable in their quest to touch, my fingers trailing up and over the lines of his abs, settling and stopping against his chest, his heart pounding beneath my palms.

* * *

“I didn’t do much,” I say, closing my eyes. “I just laid there.”

* * *

“You don’t have to do much,” he says groggily, his mouth pressing gently against my hair. “You do me in with just a smile.”

* * *

We are lying there, naked and half asleep, when the door opens and the end of my world walks in.

CHAPTER 52

She is beautiful, but I already knew that. The day after Drew told me about Cecile, I went to the library and used one of their computers. My hands felt foreign on the keyboard, the mouse awkward in my hand. Photos of them were all over the Internet—dominating old society articles, charity postings, and Facebook mentions. Our trip to Napa, the paparazzi shots of us at events—it is a drop in the bucket compared to their two years together. And as gorgeous as she looked in those photos, it pales in comparison to the woman standing before me.


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