Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
I force myself to release one hip and draw my thumb into my mouth before pressing it against her clit.
I do my best to focus on slow, even circles rather than how fucking good she feels sliding up and down my cock.
She presses both hands to my lower abdomen as she increases the back-and-forth rocking of her hips.
“Just a little harder,” she begs, and I oblige, squeezing my eyes closed because the woman is overwhelming my senses, and it’s threatening to make me lose control.
I can’t say when I decided to sleep with her that I had hopes of it happening more than once, but her threat to not let it happen a second time is the only thing keeping me in check right now.
“Watch me, Josh. Watch me come for you.”
I snap my eyes open, my cock jerking at the first hint of her orgasm.
I pulse into the condom, my orgasm lasting as long as hers.
“Fuck me,” I grunt as she collapses on top of me, her breath uneven as if she ran around the damn block. Hell, I lie here for all of it. I’m also feeling a little winded.
She doesn’t say a word as she catches her breath with my cock refusing to deflate.
Chapter 17
Slick
As I try to catch my breath, I also try to reason with myself that maybe it was the best sex of my life because I’ve needed that type of release for way too long.
I can’t let myself give in to the idea that it was amazing because it was him.
That’s much too dangerous.
His heart pounds in his chest, the thump of it mere inches from my cheek.
He doesn’t push me off or even shift his weight in an effort to remove me, but staying on top of him, his still rigid cock inside of me, grows awkward in the silence.
I shift to the side, pulling myself free of that spectacular part of him, and fall to the bed, my own face now buried in his pillow.
He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t voice regrets or try to entice me into a second round.
We simply exist in the same space for a few minutes.
I’m aware now why the women he hooks up with in Farmington always leave the clubhouse with smiles on their faces.
His cock alone would’ve probably gotten me off eventually with that perfect hint of an upward curve, but Jesus, his thumb getting involved… absolute bliss.
My skin grows cold, the sweat coating it making the temp in the room feel much cooler now that I’ve settled some.
There are a million things that could be said right now, but neither one of us want to say them.
I begin to struggle with all of it, unsure if I should act the way I want or the way I feel he thinks I should. Instead of getting up and leaving the room, which is what I’m interpreting his silence to mean, I roll over, facing him, and place my palm on his chest. I rest my cheek on his shoulder, knowing there’s a real chance I’m taking things too far.
I have no grandiose ideas of romance or that this means anything other than a physical act we were both desperate for, but a little cuddling never hurt anyone.
Before I can bend my knee and place my leg over his, he pulls the sheet up, covering his amputation sight.
“You don’t have to do that,” I whisper, not certain which man is going to respond. I hope for the kind man I’ve grown an unhealthy infatuation with over recent months, but I’m fearful I’ll get the angry bitter one that seems to rear its ugly head more often these days.
Instead, I get a third man, the silent one that wiggles his way out from under me before sitting up on the edge of the bed.
“Josh,” I say, reaching for him.
The brush of my hand on his back moves him into action and he grabs the top of his walker and places it in front of him before standing.
“There’s something seriously fucking wrong with you if you don’t have a problem fucking a man with a missing leg.”
The threat of tears burn the backs of my eyes, my heart breaking a little as he shuffles across the room to the bathroom.
I know this is part of his healing. I know the anger and bitterness is tearing him apart inside. I’m well aware that the mind may be the last thing to heal. That it may take years to accept and finally come to terms with what has happened to him.
Knowing it doesn’t stop me from hurting for him. My heart breaks that he’s going through all of this. My mind races with an insanity I can’t manage to control because I worry that the struggle will be too much for him. Many injured veterans can’t deal with what they consider being not whole despite most people not having an issue with such an injury.