Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
And it’s like…she doesn’t even care.
But this is Katy Dayton we’re talking about here. She’s got to care…right?
Instead of bringing attention to the situation and potentially embarrassing her, I concentrate on the task at hand.
I avert my gaze from her bared breasts and focus on the smooth skin of her back. But as I move the washcloth up and down in gentle circles, the tiniest hint of a moan leaves her lips, and it feels like it has the power to stop my heart.
“That feels so good,” she purrs.
My voice officially on a vacation of its own, I keep washing her back while Katy doesn’t hide her enjoyment from the feel of my hands and the washcloth on her.
This is getting a little dangerous, bro…
The song switches over, and it’s a remix of a song by BØRNS. It’s called “Holy Ghost,” and between the powerful opening that showcases a goose-bump-inducing violin concerto and the far-too-relatable lyrics, I feel like I’ve been punched square in the chest.
Without warning, Katy leans back into the water, and her hands are no longer lax at her sides. With her eyes staring into mine and her teeth digging into her bottom lip, she runs her fingertips ever so gently over her own skin. Over her shoulders and her arms and her belly.
Over her breasts and over the parts of her thighs that aren’t currently covered by the towel.
I don’t know what’s come over her or what is even happening right now, but fuck me, this has to be the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced, and my hands aren’t even on her and I can’t see between her legs.
It’s all Katy. Her hands on herself and her eyes staring into mine the entire time.
Despite the part of me that is mesmerized by her, I fear the fallout of letting this go unchecked. In a shocking turn of events, I really like Katy Dayton. Respect her, even. I don’t want some hormonal schoolboy moment when I’m caught up with her physical beauty to diminish the veneration I have for who I know she is on the inside.
“I think I should give you a minute,” I manage to force through my lips as I stand from the side of the tub. But she’s quick to stop my body’s momentum with her hand, her grip on my wrist bordering on animalistic.
“Stay,” she demands, and I forget to breathe.
Katy wants me to stay, in this bathroom, with her, while her hands continue to touch her body.
Fuck.
As her tongue sneaks out to lick across her lips, one of her hands slides beneath the towel. I can’t see what it’s doing, but I know that she’s touching herself, right there, by the way the towel moves above her wrist.
Katy Dayton is touching herself. Right in front of me. And she’s just watching me while she does it.
I’m pretty sure I’m dead.
I expect her to turn shy or embarrassed, but she doesn’t. She’s owning it. She’s giving herself pleasure without remorse.
And fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
The music continues, and I am powerless against the pull that is her. All I can do is sit there and watch her, my cock growing hard by the second beneath my jeans.
A little moan escapes her lips, and it takes everything inside me not to lean forward and swallow it down with my mouth pressed to hers.
Another moan comes shortly after that.
And more moans follow. Then, her lips part and her eyes fall closed and her thighs shake because she makes herself come, in the bath, right in front of me.
Holy fucking shit.
Burn me up and slather me with butter because I’m toast.
Tuesday, March 22nd
Katy
I wake up to the sounds of my phone ringing and vibrating on the nightstand. Half asleep and with a groan, I turn over on my side and reach for it without even looking at the screen.
“Hel-lo?”
Immediately, my best friend’s voice is in my ear. “Oh hello, bitch. Are you purposely ignoring me?”
“What?” I scrub a hand down my face and try to force my eyes open.
“I’ve been texting you for two days now without a response! Yesterday, I called and texted you like a hundred times at least, trying to wish you a happy birthday, but you were MIA,” Anna explains on a huff. “I’m pretty sure I left you five voice mails. One of which had a killer rendition of ‘Like a Virgin,’ by the way.”
If Anna is one thing, it’s Madonna’s biggest fan. She’s also really pissed at me. I can tell by the way every other breath is kind of growly.
“I…I’m sorry. It’s been a busy two days, I guess.”
“You sound weird. What’s going on? Did I wake you up?”
“Yeah, actually, you did.”
“Hold the fucking phone!” she shouts, and my eardrum pings in discomfort. “Are you telling me that Katy Dayton is still in bed after ten in the morning?”