Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Oh God.
I’m so turned on right now. So fucking turned on.
I’m nodding to everything he’s saying, to his every question. To every demand he’s making of me and I’m nodding not only with my head but with my entire body.
I’m sliding my legs up and down his sheets. I’m rocking my hips, and all the while he has this one hand on my stomach, keeping me pinned on his bed.
“I will. I will. I will scream. I promise.”
“Good. I want them to hear it. I don’t want you biting your lip. I want them to hear you scream and moan when I give you your kiss, Violet. I want them to know that I make it so good for you, that I make it so fucking fantastic that you can’t help but scream. You scream because you’re mine and I want them to know that. I want them to know that you’re in my bed. That you’re my slut and if someone dares to call you that again, I’ll fucking destroy them.”
I arch up at his tone, at the finality of it, at his determination to make things right for me. To make all those people pay and to make me feel cherished.
I do feel cherished. In a way that I’ve never felt before. Cherished and protected and so completely dominated as he moves down and spreads my legs and at last, I get the presence of mind to ask him, “W-what’s my birthday kiss?”
Like, how did I not ask him this before?
How was I not curious?
But whatever, I’m asking now. I’m looking up at him with needy eyes and in reply, he inches up my dress, exposing my damp panties.
He shifts it up and reduces it to a red sash around my stomach, exposing my breasts and that place between my thighs.
It makes my heart skip a beat. It makes my heart skip several beats, actually. It makes my heart beat in my stomach. In my pussy, which he’s looking at right now, for the first time ever.
Or rather, he’s looking at my panties – red ones – and they’re wet, getting wetter under his scrutiny.
And instead of feeling shy, I think they’re a nuisance, my panties. They’re hiding what I really wanna show him.
I wanna show him my pussy.
My wet and deep pink and pulsing core that’s been dying for him. That I especially prepared for him. I shaved and primped not because I expected this to happen but because I just wanted to be pretty for him even though he’d never know it.
But he’ll know it now, I think.
Because he has the same idea of my panties being a nuisance and so, he goes for them.
He goes for my panties.
He hooks his fingers in my waistband and yanks them down. He keeps yanking until they are off and somewhere on the floor where he throws them before coming back to me.
Before coming back and lying down on his stomach, as sprawled as I am on the bed.
My legs are all open now, almost in a split and his shoulders are jammed between them. His face is at my open, bare core that he’s breathing over, fanning my steamy folds with the air within his lungs.
He stares at it, burning my most intimate flesh with his eyes, as his thumbs run in circles at the juncture where my thighs meet my hips.
He stares at it and stares at it, getting lost for a second like he did when he looked at my breasts, and I have to call his name again. “Graham?”
He looks up, then.
“What’s my special kiss?”
Finally, he growls, “This.”
With that, he licks me.
He licks me right there. With the flat of his tongue, going from bottom to top, and he does it so lazily that it makes me think he’s lapping up the juices of a fruit.
A fruit that is me.
And then, he goes and finishes that shameless and open and direct lick with a groan. As if it really was juicy. My pussy really is a fruit, his favorite fruit.
In fact, it’s such a favorite that he does it again. And again and again. He licks and licks and licks, using the flat of his tongue, so that my hands snap off the sheet and go to his hair.
I arch up on the bed, thrusting my core into his mouth. Not only thrusting, I rub my core over his mouth, his jaw.
His bearded jaw.
And God, God, that makes me moan like the slut I am.
His beard on my pussy makes me moan like a whore. I moan so loudly that I swear I hear the rattle of the bedroom window. I hear the glass crack, almost. I hear my moan reverberating and echoing through the woods.
So it’s really a surprise when amidst my screaming and moaning, I hear him groan.