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Catching Her Breath (Deep Desires)

Page 2

by Liza Mitchell


  He didn’t know her. He didn’t know what she was doing. She could be in her own bed right now, using some toy, a machine, to get her off. That orgasm was his. He was going to claim it later. Avery doesn’t know that.

  A growl rumbled in his chest, and he charged over to the open railing and leaned over, looking for her. He knew she wasn’t there. He’d only heard one door.

  The growl turned into a roar as he charged down the hallway in search of her.

  “You better not have come yet,” he yelled into the empty lobby.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ____________

  AVERY

  She stormed through the lobby, passing right by the ringing phone. She wanted to tear it right out of the wall, but then Garland might think that she’d actually obeyed him. Disobeying was so much more satisfying.

  Ripping open a door, she sped down a short hallway that lead to the staff quarters and fell onto her bed. That ass thought he could march into the Bayside and make lewd fucking innuendos to a complete stranger. And she’d fallen right into it, easily.

  But how could she have said no? He’d literally taken her breath away, lit her on fire. She was still burning. The memory of his whispers sent shivers down her spine. If only he’d told her not to answer the phone. Held her there, refusing to let her go. Teasing her, kissing her. Until she couldn’t keep quiet.

  He would grab her, pick her up, carry her into his room, toss her onto his bed. Then slide off his shirt, turning his hair into a chaotic mess. He’d lower himself on top her, bare chest and arms on display for her.

  Her hand skimmed under her leggings and found her clit, that dark piece of her Garland had left wanting and desperate. Covering her fingers in her arousal, she traced circles around the peak. Gathering a swirling heat in her core, her hips working in tandem with her hand.

  Garland had found the darkest part of her.

  She’d found his darkness, too.

  It wouldn’t take much. Maybe she’d tell him what to do, where to touch her. His hand would snap around her throat. You’re supposed to be quiet.

  Her fingers slipped lower, the heel of her palm grinding against her clit.

  A muffled cry came from the other side of the door. He’d never find her, never come this far for her.

  She drove her fingers deeper, massaging herself, calling her orgasm forward, writhing on the twin bed in her small room.

  He’d drive into her, filling her more than her fingers ever could, pull her knees to his shoulder, his cock exploring the deepest parts of her.

  She’d try to speak; only moans moan would escape her lips.

  Fire raced down her spine, and her skin burned as her fingers worked her cunt. Her hips bucked, like they couldn’t stand the heat radiating from her core. Real moans escaped her lips. So close…

  Her bedroom door slammed against the wall as Garland barked from the doorway, “You better not have fucking come yet.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ____________

  GARLAND

  The small room—closet—reeked of sex, and she was doing exactly what he thought she’d be doing. For a moment, he wanted to let her keep going. He’d made her that fucking hot that she needed to get off. She couldn’t keep her hands away from her cunt.

  He crossed the room and knelt beside her twin-sized bed. “That one’s mine,” he ground out, digging his fingers into her thighs.

  “What do you care?” she snapped. “You didn’t give a fuck if I came just minutes ago.”

  “Who were you thinking about?” he asked, reaching out his hand and skimming a finger along the exposed strip of skin below her shirt.

  “You,” she answered, her eyes fixed on his hand.

  He slipped his hand under hers and pushed his way to her pussy. “What was I doing to make you this wet?” he asked, circling a finger in the slick heat gathered there.

  Her eyes snapped to his, and she shook her head slightly.

  “Tell me.”

  He toyed with her cunt, brushing his fingers against her velvet skin, listening to her breath hitch each time he threatened to touch her clit or drive his fingers into her.

  “Tell me,” he repeated after she started whimpering under his torment. His cock jumped with each and every one the sounds that escaped her mouth. He wanted her as badly as she needed release.

  “We were just fucking,” she whispered.

  “There’s more.”

  Avery looked to the ceiling and twisted under him. Her fingers dug into the back of his hand, urging him deeper.

  He brought his face to hers. “I’ll give you everything you need. Just do as you’re told.”

  He could do this forever, keep her on edge, deny her his orgasm. Her breathing was a flurry of pants and moans. She couldn’t catch her breath with his hand teasing her. Maybe he’d give her a break. Maybe.

  “Tell. Me,” he ground out.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ____________

  AVERY

  Her skin was on fire. She couldn’t think.

  Her hands moved erratically. Pressing against his, running through her hair, grabbing the sheets.

  Every atom in her body was a flurry of desperation.

  “Choking me!” she cried out. “You were choking me,” she said, meeting his eyes defiantly, suddenly regaining control of her thoughts.

  “Interesting,” Garland said slowly, his hand frozen in place.

  She took in a deep breath, relaxing slightly now that his torture had stopped. Her pulse didn’t slow—she could see that he wasn’t done with her yet. His eyes were so expressive. Dark.

  Gone was the playful rich boy who’d teased her in the lobby with the impish glint. Garland’s eyes were wicked and calculating. Exciting.

  “Did I use my hands or something else?”

  “Your hands,” she whispered.

  He just nodded and resumed teasing her cunt, dipping into her, collecting her sweet cream on his fingertip, and slipping it up and over the peak of her clit. Again and again.

  “Like this?” he asked, resting his palm against her throat, his fingers barely touching the sides of her neck.

  A puckish grin flashed across his face. He was teasing her—teasing her cunt, teasing her fantasies.

  She shook her head slightly. “Harder.”

  “How hard?” he asked, sliding a single finger into her cunt.

  Fucking finally. She moaned, tilting her hips, grinding against his hand.

  Her palms pressed against the bed, and her foot slipped along the fucking kitschy quilt as she writhed against the heel of his palm. Her relief was short lived. She cried out as frustration surged through her. She was trapped. His grip on her neck may not have been tight, but it was like a steel collar pinning her against the bed.

  She sagged back into the mattress, defeated. Her hips still moved against his hand, but she couldn’t stop that if she wanted to. She closed her eyes and whimpered. He was going to tease and torture her forever, until the tension inside her was unbearable.

  Garland’s warm breath cascaded down her cheek. “Don’t give up yet.”

  Her body was humming so intensely that nothing may ever quiet it. He had broken her.

  “Eyes on me.”

  She turned her head to meet his gaze, thoughtlessly. Her lips brushed against his, and like a match against a tinder box, she erupted to life, opening her mouth, desperately fighting against his grip on her neck, searching for his lips, like the only oxygen that could keep her alive would come from his mouth.

  “Fuck yes,” he ground out, plunging another finger into her pussy, rewarding her.

  She bucked against his hand, looking for more, wanting more, needing more.

  “Please,” she whispered her hands, covering his and urging them further.

  “Please, what?” he teased.

  “More. Harder,” she pleaded, her voice shaking. Harder. Would he know what that meant? Would he give it to her?

  His hand slammed into her, filling her.
She cried out, arching her back. Flames surged through her veins, chasing away the biting hum of her building pleasure. He fucked her with his fingers while he tightened his hold her neck, keeping her firmly in place, digging the tips of his fingers into her flesh.

  She twisted against his grip. Raspy, stifled moans clawed their way from her throat. His fingers gripped tight enough to leave bruises, mark her, tell everyone her dark secret for days, but his palm hardly constricted her windpipe. She wasn’t any more breathless than any great fuck would leave her.

  “Do you want more?” he asked, barely maintaining control over his own voice.

  She glanced at him, and a thought flashed through her head about being a good partner, giving something to him, getting him off, but it melted away just as quickly as it came when Garland tightened his vise-like grip and growled, “Answer me.”

  His thumb drew merciless circles around her clit, sending searing pleasure through her core.

  “Yes,” she cried out. “I can take more.”

  She was suddenly filled. And his thumb never slowed. His fist held her to the bed as her orgasm tore through her. Her moans and screams filled the small room as waves after wave drove through her. Her heels slipped against the knot of sheets underneath her, and her hands clawed at his arms, but she didn’t want him to stop. She never wanted it to stop. She wanted more of him, to touch him, feel him.

  He whispered into her ear, telling her to come again and again, give him more of his orgasms, and her body obeyed, sometimes triggered by the dull ache around her neck, sometimes by his hand filling her, finding her darkest places.

  He pulled orgasm after orgasm from her until she was spent, her arms and legs lying heavy on the bed. She tried to reach for him, but her limbs refused to do what they were told. They were still his.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ____________

  AVERY

  Garland wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap, drawing the quilt around them to cover her while she settled into the crook of her arm.

  “You’re good?” he asked, stroking her hair to the side and inspecting her neck.

  She nodded, closing her eyes and resting her head against his arm.

  “Answer me. Can you speak?”

  “Yeah,” she said, peering up at his concerned faced. “You didn’t hurt me at all. Well, I mean, damage anything major.” A slow grin crept across her face. She couldn’t hide her giddiness.

  “You’re going to have a hard time explaining these bruises to your family tomorrow,” he said gruffly.

  “I’m not seeing my family tomorrow. I wasn’t kidding when I said it’s just you and me until the snow clears.”

  “You’re fucking serious? Your boss couldn’t figure out how to get you out of here for Christmas?” A shadow crossed his face.

  “I volunteered. Holiday pay, not too keen on my family. I thought it would be worth it.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  “Hmm, yeah. I’m guessing so. Although, you didn’t get off.” She grinned and twisted, sliding a hand toward his hard cock that had been pressing against her thigh.

  “I got everything I want for now. You should rest after that,” he said gruffly, standing up, cradling her in his arms. “Which room has the best tub?”

  “Honeymoon suite. Third floor. I can walk.” She fought against his hold, but his arms were a steel trap and he held her close as he maneuvered his way through the back halls and the lobby and up the stairs. “And I can decide if I need to rest. What if I want more? What if I didn’t get everything I need?”

  “I’m here until the New Year. We have time. Then you’re coming to L.A. with me. I’ll give you everything you need.”

  THE END

  Thank you for reading!

  Love alpha males and sassy heroines? Get TWO free steamy romances with a little pain and a lot of lip when you join Liza’s Racy Readers

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  Also by Liza Mitchell

  Deep Desires

  Post Mate

  Between the Stacks

  Flowers in Her Hair

  On Her Trail

  Private Lessons

  On Display

  Catching Her Breath

  Hot Pursuit

  Victim of Desire

  Victim of Seduction

  Victim of Revenge (November 2019)

  Victim of Devotion (December 2019)

  Something Wicked

  Unraveling a Witch

  An Untouched Witch

  An Untamed Witch

  An Unclaimed Witch

  Walking Shadows

  Bound by Blood

  Absolved by Blood

  Love awesome book recommendations, giveaways, and dirty shit that makes Aunt Karen cringe? Hang out with Liza and other Racy Readers on Facebook!

  About the Author

  Liza writes short safe contemporary and paranormal romances. She is an avid reader and coffee drinker with a passion for spending as little time in reality as possible. She a hobby farmer, wife, and mother wearing black and herding cats in Northern Michigan.

  www.lizamitchell.com

 

 

 


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