Page 29 of Hot Nights in Morocco
“Yes! Oh, my God, yes!”
He thrusts over and over, slow, measured, and brutal, crushing his groin against my clit. All the while, he’s gripping my hips and urging me to meet his every assault. I can feel my inner muscles clenching around his cock already, and I know he feels it, too.
“Wait.” He shifts his hips to angle himself deeper.
“I can’t!” My body is like a mindless animal and I’m right on the edge.
He responds by picking up the pace and driving into me with everything he’s got, his brutal assaults stealing the air from my lungs.
“Now!” he roars. “Come hard for me, Charlie.”
His words are fruitless. My body is already shuddering as wave after wave of pure pleasure drags me under. I hear him curse, and then we’re climaxing together in one heady, decadent rush, with me calling out his name until he’s silencing my mouth with his own.
Chapter Fourteen
“It’s your turn, Charlotte bird.”
I can tell he’s grinning at me, but I keep my eyes fixed on the dirty floor. I want to run away, but I can’t. He’s locked all the doors and hidden the key. He calls me his “bird,” but he’s broken my wings.
I listen to the sick sound of metal grinding as he spins the chamber. Always ten times. Sometimes he makes me count them out loud.
I’m only six, but I know there’s something wrong with him. He smells the same but he acts funny. It’s as if he doesn’t see me, even when he’s looking straight at my face.
It’s been four days. Four days since he took me away from her. I haven’t eaten. I’ve barely had any water, but always this game. Every night.
Spinning that barrel for the both of us.
Chapter Fifteen
I wake with a cry, my eyes desperately searching to make sense of the darkness.
Not another nightmare. Not now. Not when I’m lying naked in Jake’s king-sized, four-poster bed.
He’s still asleep beside me, stretched out on his back, his lower torso cocooned in a crumpled white sheet, like the demigod that he is. The dawning light has softened his features and the frown lines have all but disappeared. Artists make sculptures from visions such as this; writers proclaim sonnets. Women like me are in serious danger of losing all sense and reason.
If this is just a one-night thing like he said, I want to savor this image for as long as possible. One problem. My thoughts are all over the place. I’ve never given a man control over my body before, not after what happened to me as a child. In truth, I’ve never cared enough to be this intimate with anyone.
And now?
I feel stripped. Exposed. He flayed me with his words, only to bleach my bones with the hottest, filthiest sex of my life.
He stirs and rolls onto his side, reaching out for me with one arm. When he encounters an expanse of empty sheets, his eyelids flicker and then open. He clocks me on the far side of the bed and his lips start to twitch. “Stop staring at me.”
The way his words rumble with sleep should be illegal.
“I know your manners are questionable, Books, but surely, that one’s elementary?”
“Not this time, I’m afraid.” Somehow, I force a smile. “Looking at one’s boss’s boss is an occupational hazard, despite your stipulation to the contrary. Would you like me to apologize?”
The corners of his mouth start twitching again. “Why bother? You’re not sorry in the slightest. And are you answering in your capacity as my brother’s assistant or as my lover?”
“Are they mutually exclusive?” I find myself holding my breath as I ask it.
Jake doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches out and pulls me back into his arms, and my body acquiesces just like that. It’s all too simple for him.
“Rule number three,” he mutters into my hair. “Don’t fuck your producer.”
“Damn.” I sigh, feeling him grow hard against my ass. “Am I breaking all the rules again?”
