Exclusive Excerpt: Over The Edge by CD Reiss
“This series grips you by the throat and refuses to let go—and you’ll be begging for more the entire time.” — Sierra Simone, USA Today Bestselling Author
Over the Edge, the stunning conclusion to the “intensely sexy” and “mind-blowing” Edge Series by New York Times bestselling author CD Reiss is available now!
The epic conclusion to the intense and dark Edge Series.
Descend into sanity.
This is Caden and Greyson’s final story.
What kind of man would die to save his wife?
The only thing that ever stood between me and madness was my wife.
And now, she’s in trouble. She’s falling into the hole that almost ended me. The only thing standing between her and the fate I escaped is me.
But I have no expertise in this. No knowledge but what she taught me. I’m flying blind here….and every moment that passes brings me closer to losing her.
She says I’m crossing the line, but she can draw a million lines around her and I’ll cross every single one to get to her, even if it destroys me.
I threw her on the bed. She landed on her back, and I expected her to leap up and punch me in the face. Instead, she got up on her elbows.
“Are you going to take your clothes off, or am I going to do it?”
“Is this how it’s going to be?” The question was so pointed it had a vector all its own.
“You tell me.” I leaned over her, knees on the bed, knuckles digging divots into the mattress. “Are you going to be honest with me?”
“Fuck you! I am being honest. I’ve never lied to you.”
“Then are you going to be honest with yourself? Because I’m not as patient as you. I’m not half as nice. You’re going to talk to me, or I’m going to take what’s mine.”
“What if I tell you to stop?”
“Then it’s not mine, is it?”
A shade of her aggression wore away, and a few layers of confusion turned into attention.
“Are you talking?” I asked. “Or am I taking?”
She laid her hands on my chest. She was going to push me off her, which meant she either needed space for talking or she was telling me to stop.
“I’m not in the mood to talk,” she said. “Take what’s yours. But I’m not stripping for you just because you say so.”
“Then I’ll fuck you with your clothes on.” I pulled her shirt over her bare breasts. “I really don’t give a shit.” I tweaked a nipple and sucked it between my teeth. She jerked her hips and groaned. “Are these tits mine?”
She groaned again.
“Answer me.” I twisted the other one and resumed sucking. It got hard and long in my mouth.
“The tits are yours.”
I kneeled over her as I undid my pants and pulled out my erection. When she looked at it the way she always did, like a lioness terrified of her prey but too hungry not to pounce, it throbbed harder. I swiped the drop of clear liquid off the tip with two fingers and placed them on her bottom lip.
“Is this mouth mine?”
She nodded, and I shoved them in her mouth.
She closed her lips over them and pulled. The sensation went right to my balls.
“That’s good. Very good. Open wide. All the way down.” She opened her throat, and I owned it, taking her breath away and giving it back.
I took my hand away from her and wiped the spit onto my dick, fisting it for her as she watched with her shirt pulled over her hard-kissed tits. She started to get her hands at her waistband, but I grabbed her wrists and held them over her head firmly, but without aggravating her injury. With her arms up, her breasts went higher, tighter.
“Too late.” I put my free hand over the silver line left of her sternum. “Whose scar is this?”
Drawing my hand down her belly, I asked, “Whose is this?”
After untying her waistband, I grabbed a fistful of her sweatpants and yanked them down to just below the triangle between her legs.
“Caden,” she gasped. “My cunt is yours.”
“I knew you’d come around.” I got my fingers in her folds, and she writhed with pleasure while I held down her arms. “And this?” With my wet fingers, I circled her asshole.
“Take it. If you want it. Take it.”
Letting her wrists go, I pulled her knees up to her chest and her waistband down to mid thigh, exposing her clit, her cunt, her ass. Everything. I rubbed from one end of her seam to the other, savoring the ridges and bumps, the caress of one entrance and the tension of the other. I left no nerve unstimulated, inside or out, until she broke out in a sweat, grinding her hips into me.
“You’re obsessed with finishing something. But I’m the one who’s going to finish you tonight.”
I toyed with her until her body was slick with sweat and every touch made her shudder. Then slowly, so slowly, with the sweatpants stretched between her thighs, I slid my dick inside her.
“All the way,” she whispered, hungry, begging.
“I’ll take what’s mine. Any. Way. I. Want.”
With the last four words, I pulled out and in just enough to be felt. Just enough to drive her crazy. Then I buried myself so deep she howled.
Her legs over my shoulders, the pants against my chest, my own waistband restricting me, I took her hard.
I knew my wife. I knew how to fuck her. I knew what she liked and how she got off.
But no matter how hard I drove, she didn’t come.
No matter how deep I went, she stayed on the edge.
I bit her breast, pinched her hips, gave her as much pain as I dared, and still, she cried and scratched but didn’t come.
“Fuck,” I said, coming inside her.
I kissed her neck and down her belly when her fingers tightened in my hair.
“Stop,” she said. I looked up at her, and she stared down at me. “I need to drive this.”
She sat up and pulled off her pants. “I can’t be a passenger right now.” She peeled her shirt off as I got up and stood by the side of the bed with my dick out.
“I’m not done with you,” I said.
“I know.” Naked, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, sitting straight. She yanked my pants down. “Foot.”
I raised one foot, then the other so she could get my pants off.
“You might need to give me five minutes,” I said at half-mast.
“I don’t think so.”
Taking my ass in her hands, she pulled my hips toward her and licked me clean from the underside of my balls to the tip of my dick.
“When we met,” I said, taking my shirt off as she worked on me, “I had no idea you’d be this filthy.”
“Would you have married me?”
“I was a nice guy back then.” The touch of her tongue went from ticklish to something deeper. “You corrupted me.”
She ran her tongue over my hardening length. “The gentleman doth protest too much.”
I laughed, running my fingers through her hair, fully hard in under five minutes.
“You wanted to drive?” I asked.
There wasn’t enough furniture in this apartment. Or at least not the right furniture. I helped Greyson up and led her to the cheap loveseat. I sat on the edge and pulled her close until her knees were on either side of me, and I leaned back as I let my hands roam her body, finding the crook between her legs.
She stayed my hand. “Don’t.”
She put my palms on her hips, lowered herself onto me. I watched my cock disappear inside her. When I moved my hands to her breasts, she moved them to her hips again.
“You’re getting bossy.”
“No backseat driving.”
I let her set the pace. Let her push against me. Let her move any way she liked. She was unbelievably sexy when she was in charge.
“Fuck,” she grunted, leaning over me. “I can’t.”
“I have all night, baby.”
“I need… something.”
“I can hurt you a hundred ways. Just say the word.”
She thought about it, then sat straight again. “Something else.” She took my right hand and laid it between her breasts. “I’m spinning.” She put my hand on her throat, pressing my thumb and middle finger to opposite sides. “I need a straight line out. Give it to me.”
Her veins pulsed under my hand, and the lump in her throat shifted when she swallowed. The control she offered was so precious that I took a moment before agreeing to it.
“Come on me.” I tightened my hand just a little. “Use me to fuck yourself.”
Her eyes on me, her jaw in the cradle of my hand, she moved again, and I drove a little, moving with her. All my focus was on her reaction, her pleasure, the release of tension from her face.
When her lips opened and her eyelids fluttered, she was back on the edge. I tightened my hand. “Say no while you still can.”
She groaned under my hand. The orgasm was pushing at the boundaries, looking for a way in.
She went rigid mid-orgasm, shaking uncontrollably. I wrapped my other arm around her to bring her into me, pushing her clit against my body as the last of her air gave out. Her pussy squeezed, pulsing around my shaft, but I couldn’t come. I couldn’t lose control while I had her life in my hands.
When I was sure she’d peaked, I let go, and she pulled in air like a drowning woman, then let out a long vowel sound that told me her body had elongated the orgasm while it dealt with the lack of air and exploded when she breathed again.
She collapsed on me.
“Hey,” I said, pulling her hair away from her face. “Let me look at you.”
She groaned, getting her arms under her with her head still bowed.
I reached past the curtain of hair for her chin. “Hey. Come on. Look at me. I need to see if you’re all right.”
I wanted to check her body, but when she looked at me, it wasn’t her body that needed my attention.
She just looked at me, and I wondered what her name was.
About CD Reiss:
CD Reiss is a New York Times bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up she’s at the well hauling buckets.
Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels.
She’s frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut which is flattering but hasn’t ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood.
If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.
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Over the Edge: (The Edge Book 4) by CD Reiss