Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
“We’ve been busy with other things,” she murmurs, looking up at me with eyes that sparkle with deeper meaning.
Other things. That’s one way to describe the way we haven’t been able to keep our hands off each other. What can I say? I’m a guy who finally got what he craved for years, and I’m making the most of it. I don’t hear her complaining, either – no, she only complains when she has to wait for me to recover. She spent a long time being afraid of being touched, being wanted. She felt disconnected from her body. Now, all of that is in the past, and she’s got a hell of a lot of lost time to make up for.
We both do.
Although now that I’m looking at a refrigerator that holds nothing but a few mouthfuls of milk, eggs, and yogurt that’s probably expired, I understand the need for balance.
“Shit. I guess you distracted me.”
“Did I?” She leans against my bare chest, sighing softly when I wrap an arm around her and slide my hand under her sweater. Her nipple hardens under my palm, while her head drops back onto my shoulder. “You can do that all day if you want to,” she whispers – throaty, needy.
“I wish I could.” I bury my face against her neck and inhale her sweet, floral scent before nipping at her tender skin.
“I know, I know. You have to work.”
It turns out there are things in this world capable of ruining my hard-on, after all. All it took was the reminder of my responsibilities. The reason we’re here. Who keeps money in my accounts.
“Not this very minute, though.” I don’t want to think about that. I won’t think about anything except for how she melts against me so effortlessly. All she needed was an invitation. She’s mine, all of her. No matter whether it’s right or wrong.
As if I don’t already know it’s wrong.
I close the refrigerator door and lean her against it, parting the sides of her sweater so my hands have full access to her tits, which I mold in my palms while she arches her back and whimpers. I know that sound by heart now. I’ll never get tired of hearing it.
“I thought you wanted breakfast.” She ends it on a moan, letting her head drop back when I bend to pull one of her nipples between my teeth. Like, I give a shit about breakfast now, when there’s something much more tempting to eat. My need for her is bottomless. I can’t imagine it ever ending. I should want to, but I don’t. That’s the last thing I want.
I don’t want my freedom. All I want is her.
Her fingers dance over my scalp, holding my head in place, while I work her into a frenzy with my teeth and tongue. She barely has time to squeal in surprise when I swiftly bend to take her ass in both hands, lifting her up and placing her on the counter. I need to forget everything drumming on my mind, all the reminders of what I should be doing – and what I absolutely should not be doing. Like right now, as I spread her thighs and drop to my knees.
“I’d rather have you for breakfast.”
I know her body by heart now, after days spent defiling her in every room of the house. The softness of her inner thighs and her sweet, musky arousal are damn near intoxicating. I run my scruff over her soft skin, teasing both of us, drawing the moment out until she lets out a frustrated little groan and tilts her pelvis so her entire pussy is on full display: pink, glistening, drawing me in.
“You better start eating.” I can hardly breathe as she runs her fingers through her pink folds, then holds them up for me to see the moisture coating them. “Do you want this?”
What is it about her that turns me into a slobbering, mindless animal? My tongue darts out to catch her addictive, sweet nectar. The first taste awakens my senses and my awareness narrows to this, to this alone. Her smell, her taste, the soft moans of approval before she drags her hand away to grab the back of my head and pull it in. “Come on, then. I have plenty more for you.”
My God, I am lost. Drowning in her. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know what she tastes like. What it sounds like when I drive my tongue into her dripping hole. “Yes. Fuck me with your tongue,” she begs, clutching my head in both hands, riding my face. “Make me come for you.”
That’s precisely what I’m going to do. My rigid cock strains against my zipper, but I ignore it in favor of withdrawing my tongue and replacing it with two fingers, which I use to massage her G-spot while sucking her delicious little clit. She lets loose a string of incoherent cries, and soon her juices coat my fingers while she grinds against me. “Oh, yeah… Yeah, right there… Don’t stop, please, don’t stop!”