Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
He slid to his knees in one swift movement, flipped my dress up and threw one of my legs over his shoulder. His tongue drove into me with my panties still nudged to the side, and rather than licking and sucking, he started fucking me with his tongue. I threaded my fingers through his hair, noting that it was softer than mine, and rolled my head against the wall as he awarded me with the kind of oral sex I’d never thought was possible.
Milton was a generous, albeit robotic lover. This man was a walking, talking orgasm. I was pretty sure I would come if he sneezed in my direction. An intense desire to clamp my thighs around his face and keep him there forever slammed into me. My second climax soared from my toes to my head like an electric shock, sending me to heaven, and when he closed his lips over my swollen clit and sucked it with force, I was pretty sure every angel in my vicinity got their wings. By the time he stood up, rid himself of his dress pants and shirt, and ripped a condom wrapper with his teeth, I knew that whether I could accommodate him or not, I was willing to end up in the ER trying.
Célian drove into me all at once, crashing me against the closet behind us, lacing our fingers together and essentially handcuffing me to the surface. The pleasure was so penetrating I writhed between his arms, fighting his hands so I could claw and touch and rip to match him, thrust for thrust.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “Judith.”
“Célian.” It was the last thing I said to him for a while, before we both drowned in hot sex.
On the floor, like two savages.
Doggy-style on the bed while he was facing the TV—watching CNN.
Then when I told him he was about as gentlemanly as a sack of rocks (he let out a soft curse when Anderson Cooper presented an exclusive item about voter fraud that even I was half-tempted to listen to), we got into the shower and he ate me out again, this time paying extra attention to my clit.
Then we went at it again against the sink.
Finally, when I collapsed into the bed, he handed me another bottle of water and said, “I’m leaving at six. Checkout is at ten, and they don’t appreciate tardiness at the Laurent Towers.”
I wanted to tell him to: A, take a hike, and B, that it was a brilliantly bad idea for me to stay the night. But I wasn’t entirely sure I could face my ill dad after all the sex I’d been having, and not with my newly ex-boyfriend. I didn’t have to stare at the mirror to know I looked thoroughly screwed, with cracked, engorged lips, stubble marks covering every inch of my red skin, and three bite marks on my neck—not to mention my eyes were deliriously drunk, and not from the whiskey I’d consumed hours ago.
Reluctantly, I texted Dad that I was crashing at Milton’s and scooted up Célian’s bed, closing my eyes. I felt orphaned in the world. No one knew where I was, and the only person who cared—Dad—couldn’t particularly help me, as he barely left the house anymore.
That’s when I decided I wasn’t even going to tell Robert Humphry about my breakup with Milton Hayes. Dad had put all his Hope chips on my boyfriend, counting on him to take care of me once he was gone. Everybody needed someone, and other than Dad, I had no one.
Célian slid into bed behind me, his swelling cock pressing between the backs of my thighs.
He traced a rough-padded finger over the side of my ribcage, along the tattoo I’d gotten the day I turned eighteen.
If I seem a little strange, that’s because I am.
“So you don’t like The Beatles, but you do like The Smiths.” His breath caressed my shoulder blade.
I grew up with a single dad who was a construction worker in New York. Money was tight, and sitting on the floor listening to his vinyl records had been our favorite pastime. We read books about Johnny Rotten and invented deliberately misleading music trivia games to pass the time.
“Careful, you might get attached if you get to know me,” I said quietly, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking New York.
He began to drive into me from behind, silent. “I’ll take my fucking chances.”
The position reminded me of the front-row seat I’d had for Milton and Elise’s adulterous performance. My feelings tangled and knotted. My body was elated, but tears gathered in the corner of my eyes. I was glad my one-night stand couldn’t see them, though they were definitely a mixture of happy from all the orgasms and sad at the prospect of going back home tomorrow morning to face reality.