Craving The Wrong Brother Book PDF Free by Elysian Sparrow

Slowly. The movement drags against every quivering, hypersensitive nerve in my ass, and something in me snaps. I don’t know if s another orgasm or the same one stretching into infinity, but I seize. Full body. Hands locked. Legs twitching. I’m not just trembling-I’m tremoring. I’m sobbing and gasping at the same time, trapped inside…

He clears his throat and speaks first. “I am trying to think of a decent reason why you’d want to help Finn, he says, voice steady. “He broke an arm, not his spine. He has Delilah. If you think he needs help, it can be arranged-without you being there. So what’s the problem? Is there…

His mouth crashes against mine with zero warning-hot, rough, claiming. His teeth nip my bottom lip, just enough to sting, and his tongue follows to soothe it. I moan, helpless against the sheer heat of it, my fingers bunching in the front of his shirt. When he finally releases me, I’m breathless. Unsteady. He doesn’t…

“I mean-we’ve been friends for almost eight years-“ “Ten,” I correct without missing a beat. Cu can’t. The Problem is Sex He nods. “Ten. I did that on purpose so you could see how unreasonable you’re being. We’ve known each other too long for my brother to come between us. That’s what he does, Sloane….

She draws again from the cigar, eyes watering as she braves the burn. Then she leans forward, blowing smoke into my face. “Is that a yes or a no?” she says. “Do you want a taste of me or not?” I grab her waist and pull her flush against me. “Shoot me if I ever…

“What the hell,” she gasps. “Mmm.” I smile, eyes still closed, licking her gently while trying not to get sprayed in the damn eyes. Half Blind She twitches and pulls back, too sensitive, but I don’t let up completely. Instead, I raise my head and keep my fingers inside her, curling them again as my…

Not decorative. Not metaphorical. A cage with iron bars and a latch. To the left, a long padded bench sits beneath mounted metal rings. Its purpose is far too obvious, the spanking bench. Chains hang from the ceiling. Leather straps. Padded cuffs. Paddles of varying thickness line the far wall beside something that looks suspiciously…

I don’t wait. I toss the shirt over my head and fling it aside. “Kneel,” he adds. I drop to my knees and look up at him. He circles me slowly, and I hear him reaching for something behind me. Leather rustling. Metal sliding. And then he bends toward me, reaching for my glasses and…

He pulls his fingers out and then replaces them with something else, something circular. It enters me gradually-inch by inch-pausing with each ridge. One goes in, and then a bigger one, and another, until all five bumps of the device are inside me. He doesn’t let me adjust to it before I feel another pressure,…

“But you didn’t. You wouldn’t.” “You don’t know that.” “I do.” There’s something in her voice, something that makes me turn. She’s sitting there, chest rising and falling, hair a mess, glasses still on. “You think you’re the first person close to me with chronic PTSD?” she asks, eyes narrowing. “These things are manageable. We…