Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“It wasn’t that tight.”
“You could practically see my tattoos etched through the damn thing.”
I flop onto the sofa on a girlish giggle. “I fucking wish.”
He pauses instead of sitting down. “You know if you want me to take my shirt off, all you gotta do is ask, sweetheart.”
We walked around naked all afternoon yesterday and most of this morning. It made it very easy to fuck literally all over the house.
The memories of yesterday prompt me to declare, “I think you should move in with me.”
Archer drops down onto the couch beside me at the same time he lightly chuckles. “I uh…already did that, sweetheart. Almost five months ago. This is the address on my driver’s license.”
Realizing that didn’t come out the way I wanted causes me to roll my eyes. “I mean, I want you to move all of your shit out of the garage and into the house. Into the master bedroom. I want us to…repaint it. And get rid of the photos I hate so much. And change out the furniture. And get a real bed. A bed that’s our bed instead of this couch, which we made into our bed.”
His hands fold together as he leans slightly forward to rest his arms on his knees. “You sure you’re ready for that?”
“I am,” I declare without hesitation. “I really am.”
“Are you? Or is this about what happened at dinner with your mother?”
“This has nothing to do with her.”
He tosses me a sarcastic eyebrow lift.
“Okay. It has a little to do with her.”
“Jaye-”
“But not in the way you think!”
Archer kicks his chin towards me to continue.
“I meant what I said. This is our home. Which means you keeping your shit in the garage and me hiding away from a bedroom I never felt comfortable living in to begin with is fucking ridiculous. If this is really our house, our home, our sanctuary, then we should be living in our bedroom. One that has colors and books and style we both like. Who gives a shit if it ends up looking like a coloring page done by a first grader?” A small, happy laugh slips loose. “What matters is that it reflects us. Who we are. The relationship we have.”
Archer takes a slow, long lick of his lips.
Nods.
Drops his stare to the ground for a moment in thought.
Shit. Am I wrong? Should we wait a bit longer?
When his green gaze drifts up, I see familiar hunger that has me pushing my thighs together. “We should probably fuck one last night on our old bed, huh?”
Giving him a saucy, teasing nod is instant. “Of course. Out of respect.”
Chuckles leave us both yet fade shortly before he’s pulling me into his lap to smash his lips against mine. Our mouths refuse to wait any longer to part and going from clothed to naked is a set of actions that’s completed in record timing.
All it takes is one push inside to erase all the horrors of the evening.
To remember that this is right.
That we’re right together.
For each other.
Wet waves whirl around his swollen shaft, primitively washing away any worries that might be lingering from the ugly untruths he was forced to hear and re-instilling the loving ones. Rather than let him take me, I take him. I plant my palms firmly on his bare shoulders. Begin to work his cock by lifting myself to the tip of his dick and dropping down as low as I can possibly go, pumping his full length on every stroke.
Groans of approval or appreciation or both are attached to every nip and lick and suck being delivered to my collarbone.
And the top of my tits.
His calloused hands roughly cup both, thumbs lightly rolling around my nipples, teasing them incessantly, leaving me with no choice but to throw my chest out into every bounce. Buck like a drunk girl at a karaoke bar trying not to get knocked off a mechanical bull. My brazenness and audaciousness – two big things to be accredited to our relationship – is openly welcomed by the man using his hard hold to harshly pull me down into his frenzied thrusting.
Animalistic grunts steadily flood the room alongside my increasingly loud chants of his name.
Each time it leaves my lips his cock noticeably swells.
And every time it noticeably swells my pussy pulsates.
Pleads in a primordial code to fill me to the brim in a way I’ve never been, let alone by anyone else.
Not even Chris. Our sex sessions – when they happened – always included a condom and pulling out. The idea of kids was fine for him but the reality – in retrospect – wasn’t.
“Fuck, take whatever you need from me, sweetheart,” Archer lasciviously grumbles face becoming buried between my tits. “I’m fucking yours.”
The proclamation combined with the vibrations threatens to pre-maturely yank me over the cliff of climaxing. Digging my nails in deeper to his muscular shoulder is done in tandem with him winding his arms around my torso. Trapping me to him. Imprisoning him in my sweat soaked cleavage. Naturally, my head drops backwards during the frantic bouncing while my knees continually crash into the couch cushions struggling to support our tempestuous behaviors. All of a sudden, thick, creamy juices begin coating his cock in a more consistent pacing, proclaiming to us both that the orgasm I’ve been holding at bay is tired of being there. Feeling the soaking change causes my boyfriend to groan louder.