Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Her hazel eyes watch me over the rim of her glass as she drinks. “Since you’re going to be a part of the family, why don’t you take Thursday as your entertainment day.”
I'm not sure what that is, but I’m probably supposed to know. As terrified as I am at this prospect, I feel like this is some type of honor being bestowed upon me. One I can’t refuse.
“I’d love to,” I agree, feeling like this is becoming way more than I thought it would be when Graham and I made our deal. I’m just going to stay as far away from him as possible.
“Great.” She drains her glass. “We’re going out for dinner in an hour, so you should probably get ready.”
“Well, that’s what I’m doing,” I mumble to myself before taking a large gulp, as she exits.
How am I supposed to entertain these people? Instead of finishing off the entire bottle, I head to my room for a quick shower and dress in a mid-thigh cranberry sweater paired with black tights and boots. Because I don’t want to make a faux pas and be late, I slap on mascara and gloss in a hurry and quickly descend the staircase to find Graham standing in the entryway, looking like a GQ model in dark jeans and a slate grey sweater.
“Let’s go before anyone wants to ride with us,” he says, taking my hand and leading me quickly out of the house to a black SUV.
“Listen, we need to talk,” I tell him as he backs out of the driveway.
“Uh oh,” he says, looking over at me.
“I’ve been assigned an entertainment day. What does that even mean?”
“Really?” He looks over a bit incredulous. “My mother has a tradition of assigning everyone a special day to come up with things to do. She either likes you or is testing you. “
“Well I’m not sure I’ll pass.”
“Something tells me you will.” His hand lands on my thigh, giving me reassurance with a gentle squeeze. “Whatever you need let me know.”
What I need is to be able to resist the lure of his hand caressing my thigh. “We don’t have traditions like these. Can’t you just make cookies like regular people?”
“You’re turning me on,” he says in a husky voice, trailing his hand higher.
“What? How?”
“Talking about cookies.” His fingers inch into the zone, running along my seam.
“Talking about cookies turns you on?” That’s a strangest fetish, but the thought of him being turned on, turns me on.
“Cookies,” the pressure he touches me with intensifies, “make me think how I only got a small taste of your pussy. I need more.”
My face is on fire at the casual and unapologetic way he says such naughty things. And then I can’t help myself, I test my dirty talk skills in a breathy voice as his thumb presses against my clit. “You like the cookie warm?”
“Fuck, you’re turning me on more. I’m hard over here.” He pulls over in a wooded area, and cuts the engine. “I’m starting to crave you, Zoe.”
“I already do crave you.” And I do. So bad. I grab his face with my hands and devour his lips.
“I need to feel your tight little pussy, right now.”
“What about dinner?” I say as he unlatches my seatbelt.
“Fuck it,” he answers.
I’m so turned on, I can’t think straight, and after a wrangle of removing my tights, I climb into his lap. He moans as he slides in deep, filling me completely. We’re loud and feral. Like wild beasts, unable to get close enough to one another.
He pumps his dick inside me, and it feels too good. I love having sex with this man. This can’t be normal. His hands fondle my breasts, and I lean my head back, eyes closed, and bite my bottom lip.
“Yes, don’t stop,” I say, riding him faster.
He keeps thrusting, and we rock against each other as our moans escalate. “Zoe, do you feel what you do to me?”
I keep grinding, seeking release from his torture. And then his fingers massage my clit, his thumb tracing circles against it, and I can’t hold back.
“I feel you,” he pants out. “Come on me.”
All my built-up angst explodes, and I tug at Graham’s dark hair as he slams into me, hitting that treasure spot that only he’s ever reached. Before my orgasm is done, he sends me into another with his ragged breaths and soft pleas of how good it feels and how he’s so close.
His head falls back against the seat, and I bring my lips to his. “I’m coming,” he groans.
As I hold his gaze, my hands cupping his beautiful face, I want to tell him things. I want to tell him how good he makes me feel. How it’s never been this good before. And how I don’t care about the soap deal. But instead, I kiss him through his orgasm. And when it’s all over, he kisses my fingers. “I like doing that with you.”