Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
She bites my shoulder, and I feel her coming again. I stop. She whines in my ear. But I’m not ready yet. I need this to last. I need her like my next breath.
“Move, Whiskey,” she says, and my name rolling off her lips forces me to start moving again.
This time I stand with her in my arms and shift her around so her back hits the wall. She doesn’t let go of me as I push her against it, and fucking slam my cock in and out of her sweet pussy.
The deal she brokered was worth every bit I lost, just to have this moment.
Every fucking bit.
26
Carla
Whiskey’s gentle as he lays me back on the bed, my back’s sore from being pushed up against the wall. Pulling out of me, I can feel his cum between my legs as it leaks out. Pushing up on my elbows, I look around the room, it’s not decorated like the one at the house I’m staying at. This one, you can tell someone lives in it. On his nightstand is a picture of him and his father, their arms are around each other, and they are smiling big. His bed is not made, clothes lay on the floor, and not the ones we just took off either.
“Water?” he asks.
I nod and watch as he turns and walks out, eyeing his ass as he goes.
Then it hits me.
What the fuck did I just do?
I fucked the man I said I wouldn’t ever fuck again.
Getting up from his bed, I look around his room, moving things around to make sure he isn’t lying to me.
“Searching for a camera?” he asks with two bottles of water in his hands.
I pause. “And I’m meant to just trust you?”
“I guess not. You sure you don’t want to check in my closet, too?” he asks, stepping closer and handing me a bottle of water. I take it from him as he steps even closer.
“Do I need to?” I ask him.
He licks his lips and then lifts his bottle of water to them. I watch as he drinks, each mouthful as seductive as the last.
How the hell is drinking water sexy?
How does he make this sexy?
This is totally unfair.
Whiskey pulls the bottle from his lips, a bit of water still on them, and I want to lean forward and lick it off.
“There’s nothing in my closet for you, rich girl.” He puts the bottle on his nightstand behind me and takes mine from my hands. Twisting it open, he lifts the bottle to my lips and tips. I take a sip, and as he pulls the bottle away, he’s on me again. Hands roaming me and water spilling all over the floor as the bottle drops and bounces, the contents emptying on the floor. I have to remember to breathe and remember that just because our chemistry is off the charts doesn’t mean we are.
We are two people who should never work.
He’s my husband.
I don’t like him.
I love it when he fucks me, though.
Whiskey pulls us apart as he lifts me. “Tell me, rich girl… you want my cock buried deep in your pussy?” He carries me back to the bed, the same bed that’s now a complete mess. He slides me down him just a touch, so I can feel him at my entrance.
“Rich girl.”
He hates it when I don’t answer.
I look up to those whiskey-colored eyes and wish it wasn’t him, I wish he didn’t do what he did. I now see him differently, and my trust for him is non-existent.
“Fuck me already, Whiskey.”
Staying at my entrance, he kisses my breast, teasing my nipple. When he lifts up, he blows on it, making it peak even harder than it was before.
“Why are you so perfect?”
The question instantly knocks the breath out of me.
I didn’t expect that from him.
I’m anything but perfect.
My father and mother have told me this my whole life. My tattoos, my style, and the way I choose to live my life has never reached their standards. I’m a complete failure in their eyes. And yet, this man who has lied and blackmailed me tells me I’m perfect. Should I believe him?
If only I could believe him.
“Shut up and fuck me, Whiskey.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckles, spreading my legs. I’m wet, that’s no surprise. But I’m also a little bit sore. He slides into me, slow and beautiful. Then he pauses, his eyes stay locked on mine, and I have to close mine so I can’t see him. I can’t look. I don’t want to know.
There’s nothing here but sex.
It’s all I want from him.
Why not, he’s damn good at it.
“Open your eyes, rich girl.”
My eyes spring open, and when I do finally look at him, he’s smirking like he knows what I’m thinking. Then he moves out and slides back in. I keep my eyes open because he needs to know he doesn’t have that effect on me. This is just something to help both of our needs.