Page 53 of Toy Shop

His hand reaches my throat, thumb stroking my windpipe. “Again. Mean it this time.”

The pressure emanating from the inside of my pussy intensifies. I know he’s going to come any minute now, and I’ll be damned if I’m not the one driving him over the edge.

“I love you. I fucking love you.” My throat is sore, voice is wretched. My determination doesn’t disappoint me, conquering both.

Alistair’s lips curve into a half-smirk, half-snarl. His hand snakes to my swollen, damp clit, his fingers rubbing the aching bud. His penetrating glare is a silent command, saying Come.

“Kiss me,” I beg, not wanting to end this without his lips on mine.

Despite this being completely out of character for him, he does. The softness of his lips complements the harsh pounding, the tugging on my hair. I’m floating into the light at the most epic of moment in my entire existence.

Fear doesn’t hold me captive anymore. Alistair does.

He joins my undulating body, his calculated hammering into me turning into an inelegant and yet oh-so-fucking-sexy jerking of his hips. Once he’s done, his head drops to my neck, lips tasting my damp skin like he can’t get enough.

Truth is, neither can I.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Nola

Alistair carries me out of the dark room and into a bedroom I hadn’t slept in the last time I was here. My eyes are droopy, my breath slow, limbs heavy in his arms. I circle his neck with my hands, snuggling closer to his shirtless chest.

A sugarcane-sweet gaze encapsulates his eyes as he looks down at me. His bare feet pad the carpeted floor, his voice even softer than that. “What’s that smile for, Miss Nola?”

Is it crazy to say that I haven’t noticed I’m smiling? Fuck, I’m so far gone for this man.

“You, probably.”

“Probably?” One eyebrow elevates along with the side of his lips. He places me on the bed, pulling the covers over me.

They’re made of silk, black with the same gold stitches that were in the other room we slept in. This one is on the other side of the house, more expansive and personal. There’s a reading corner by the window wall, a large brown leather armchair next to a mahogany corner bookshelf obscuring a part of the vast window.

It provides the room coziness, reflecting the tender, homebody side of Alistair.

And I love it, same as the rest of him.

“Only you.”

He takes a seat beside me, blocking some views of the library.

I could care less.

I tug at both sides of his face like I wanted to do, lying on the carpet, pulling him to me. His grunt revives me. No longer worn out, bruised, and docile, I kiss the living hell out of him. My lips mold to his, my tongue giving way to the smooth texture of his as it invades my lips.

My man climbs onto the bed, then on top of me. His boxer briefs tent, his cock nudging my inner thigh, teasing the sensitive center. He might be forty-two, he might not act his age too anywhere else.

Here, now, with me, Alistair is a ravenous college boy. Not satisfied for long, ready to go and so am I.

So.

Am.

I.

…

Not?

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