Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“I bet half of them are fake.”
“Want to find out?”
His fingers slip back into my hair and grip hard before he kisses me deeply. I surrender to that kiss and return it with a soft moan and a little whimper of delight as his knee gently pushes my legs open, and he presses his thigh in between my legs, spreading me open, pushing against my soft, pulsing, warm spot. I whimper into his lips as his grip tightens in my hair, pulling just on the far side of painful, and I gasp as he bites my lower lip and tongues my teeth like a beast, like he’s drinking me in. I’m wearing a pair of ripped jean shorts and a lightweight zip-up hoodie with only a sports bra underneath, my hair up in a bun, not a single strand out of position but just about as casual as I ever get, and I want to let myself loose. I want to forget about what’s proper, what’s right, heck, I want to forget about my family for ten seconds.
I want to get lost in Carmine.
He purrs into my lips and his thigh pushes harder between my legs. I let out a little gasp and he chuckles as his free hand moves down my neck, down my breasts, along my belly and my hips, and pauses over the button of my shorts.
“When you came to live with me, did you expect to feel this way, filthy girl?” he whispers and slowly, deftly, unbuttons my fly. He zips it down and my fingers dig into his arms, feeling his muscular shoulders.
“I thought I might kill you.”
“There’s still time for that.” He slips his fingers down the front of my jean shorts and I moan gently, a little purring, barking noise, and he buries his mouth on mine as he strokes me so agonizingly slowly over my panties. “There’s time for a lot of things, filthy girl. I keep thinking about being your husband, about what it will mean to come home to you every day, to find you in my bed, in my house, and I thought I’d hate it. I thought all I’d want to do is torture you. But that’s not what I want anymore.”
“What do you want?”
His fingers slip down inside my panties. I whimper and take small, quick breaths as he teases my lips open and finds my dripping pussy gushing onto his palm. He groans his excitement and fills me with two big fingers, sliding in and out, before rolling around my clit.
“I want to ruin you.”
He bites my lower lip and I moan. His grip tightens in my hair. “I want to show you how good it feels to finally let go of all their expectations.”
“Right now, all I can think about is this.” I blink rapidly, my brain fuzzing out as he goes faster, fingers sliding in deeper, his palm grinding against my clit. “And maybe—fuck—I’m wondering—ah, fuck—how much money that stupid guitar costs.”
“Don’t worry, filthy girl. The one signed by Jimi Hendrix is still on the wall.”
My eyes bug out and he laughs but kisses me again and his hand grinds against my pussy and I’m lost in the moment, moving my hips, moaning into his mouth as he goes faster and faster, driving me wild. Some part of my head’s telling me to keep going, to let myself finally surrender to pleasure for once in my life. I don’t have to be perfect and in control all the time, I can let myself just feel for once, feel as many emotions, as much pleasure as I want.
I reach forward and my fingers play over his belt buckle. His eyebrows raise as I undo it, the metal jingling. My hands are trembling as I open his top button and pull down his fly, and I’m so nervous, but I don’t care, and I don’t stop, because I smashed a guitar for fun and I want this, I want it right now. He nibbles my neck, kissing and sucking gently as his fingers keep fucking me, as I reach down to stroke his massive cock, moaning at the thickness of it, at how hard he is, practically pulsing against the limits of his underwear.
I’ve never done this before. Not once, in my entire life, have I made the first move. I’ve never reached out and felt a man’s stiffness, his thick, hard cock, quivering under my fingertips, purely because I wanted it. I’ve always held back, always wondered what people would think, always tried to keep myself as pure as possible—but now, right here, in the mess of the music room, I’m tired of being something I’m supposed to be, and instead want to be whatever I am right now.
And right now, I want him.
I want Carmine. His body, his moans. His grunts of pleasure. His words, filthy, degrading, beautiful. I want to feel him and give myself to him and experience something more than the mundane.