Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Something about it feels like coming home and I shudder.
“Your cock feels so good,” I whimper, picking up his dirty talk.
“I know, I know,” he repeats over and over again, soothing me between each grunt, smiling as he meets my lips.
“Ah, Josh,” I moan. The way he’s rubbing inside me without anything between us has me drowning fast.
“I know,” he says again, moaning too.
“Let go, baby,” he tells me. “I can’t last. It’s too good,” his hips rock and I feel him jerk. He shoves one hand into my hair and the other between us as he circles my clit.
“Luci, I have to-” He swells, larger than I’ve ever felt him.
I’m done, my limbs completely giving out.
“No,” I whimper. “Not yet.” I don’t want him to leave me.
“I have to,” he sobs. “The way you’re grabbing onto my cock, pulling at it as you come,” he grunts. “I can’t stop! Fuck!”
He barely makes it out of me, his fingers still massaging my trembling clit as he explodes between us. He doesn’t slow his fingers, and a second orgasm rips through me as I watch him, leaking everywhere.
The first bell rings as we’re both gasping for air, like we always do after something so magical.
“Crap,” he backs away, setting me down, his gaze landing on my shirt, his come all over it.
“Yours isn’t much better,” I laugh.
There are only a couple of minutes until first period and we can’t go out there looking like this.
“Um,” he’s thinking, his hands twisting, as he looks around the room frantically. His penis still hanging out, long and rigid, and I can’t help but stare at it. “I think I have a some old clothes from track in here somewhere.”
“I have gym second period, so I can change into my other clothes then,” I add.
He finally finds what he’s looking for, pulling out an old MTHS sweatshirt and T-shirt.
The final bell rings as we quickly change, him into the t-shirt, tight and wonderful against him, but looking a little silly against his dress pants; and me, pulling his oversized sweatshirt over my head. It still holds his scent.
I spend all of first period with my nose inside it, inhaling deeply.
After school, I go to math for a bit before heading to his office. He’s holding a makeup test, but left the door unlocked for me.
I don’t hear him come in, too immersed in my book, and his voice startles me.
“What in Wuthering Heights could ever possibly be making you blush?” He’s leaning against the door, a cocky gleam in his eye.
“Nothing,” I lower the novel.
He saunters over, placing his hands on the armrest of my chair, leaning in and pinning me down with a kiss.
“Tell me,” his breath is hot against my lips.
I shake my head, and he sighs.
“I didn’t realize my sister added it to her syllabus this year,” he goads.
“You know she didn’t,” I’m ready for his teasing, him knowing full well I’m following the honor’s list.
“Maybe she’d like to be made aware,” his smile is irresistible.
“You wouldn’t!” I jolt forward and he swiftly picks me up, spinning me around until he’s sitting in the chair and I’m on his lap, straddling him.
“Don’t test me,” his fingers brush my waist, finding their way under the t-shirt I kept on after gym.
“Oh!” I suddenly remember. “I left your sweatshirt in my locker.” He tightens his hold, not letting me get up.
“I don’t need it,” he rolls us around in the chair, eyeing the book. “Tell me.”
“It was a line. It reminded me of you,” I know I’m turning crimson.
He stirs underneath me as his hands travel up my stomach and around my back, undoing my bra. “Tell me,” he urges.
I brush my lips against his, feeling the release of the strap around my chest while his hands move under the fabric to my breasts.
“I can’t,” I whisper, too embarrassed. His thumbs circle my nipples and I involuntarily grind against him.
“You can. I can make you, over and over again,” his mouth meets mine, smiling at his joke.
“Ugh!” I sigh. “Close your eyes. It’s too embarrassing.” I cave far too easily.
He does, still wearing a smile. I reach over and pick the book up off his desk, turning the pages, looking for the line, and read.
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
I both hear and feel his exhale, his arms engulfing me tightly, and what happens next is a blur. Somehow we’re naked, rocking slowly, coming apart together in his desk chair, just like our very first time.
Something changed that afternoon, as I sit in my car and watch as he pulls out of the parking lot, because now I’m suddenly trying to justify that he’s only nine years older than me.
How age is a big deal right now, but in the future it won’t mean anything.