Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“I need your hole,” he snarls, pulling my shorts down even more.
He shifts down the bed, kissing my thighs as he pulls my shorts over my ankles, all the way off, along with my underwear. Each kiss leaves a searing mark of lust on my skin. Then he returns to me, gently pushing my legs open, leaning up so he can stare down at me.
“I need to watch you as you come,” he says fiercely, “you horny, perfect girl. You’re drenched.”
“Hmm,” I say, nodding, unsure how else to respond. It’s not like I’ve got lots of dirty-talk experience.
He circles my entrance with his finger, teasing tingles tantalizing my pussy, shivering up and down my folds. Something deep within aches, as if my body is preparing for his seed and the future.
“Wait.” He wipes his finger on the blanket. I’m not sure why until he brings it to my mouth. “Suck it, Lucy. Get it good and wet for your horny slit. Suck it like you would my cock.”
This triggers waves of nerves in me, but they fall to the wayside when I see his hunger. He’s staring at me as though he’s never seen anything hotter. Okay, I can do this. I hold his hand gently, then suck on his finger, keeping my eyes on him to see his reaction. The longer I hold eye contact, sucking his finger, the more he seems to like it. Finally, he groans, taking his hand away.
When he pushes it into me, I almost scream. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt, the walls of my entrance wrapped tightly around him, my walls burning with pleasure as he pushes deeper. He’s staring like he can’t look away, as if nothing could compare with what we’re doing. No actress, no model, nobody. That’s how he’s looking at me.
He moves his finger faster, pumping it in and out, the pleasure tickling deep within as I begin to move my hips, but it’s more like they move on their own. It’s like the pleasure knows what it wants and controls my body. I wonder if this is a normal thing to think about in situations like this.
“That’s it,” he says huskily. “Show me how badly you want it.”
“Hmm, hmm,” I moan, bucking my hips as he fingers me deeper, hotter, harder, faster. There’s something so hot about how he groans when I move my hips. It’s like he’s enjoying it and experiencing the same rush I am.
Time doesn’t matter as he moves faster, and I shift my hips. We’re racing toward the same end. I don’t let myself think about what comes after, what he might expect, the conversation we’ll need to have about how truly inexperienced I am.
None of that matters right now. It doesn’t feel like it even exists. It’s just us, me and him, just the connection, just the explosion of d-d-de…
I can’t even think. It’s happening. My whole body gathers every blazing nerve, every point of release, and lets it all go simultaneously. I think I’m letting out the lust in long screams, but I can’t be sure. I can’t hear myself or anything else.
All I can do is float in the orgasm, wave after wave pulsing through me, his finger making slick noises as he keeps going, his eyes locked on me intently.
Far too soon, it’s over. My hole is soaked, my entrance fluttering with the aftershocks of what we just did. He stands, reaching for his belt, looking almost like he’s not even here anymore. His eyes are glazed over like he’s possessed as if nothing could stop him.
No, not now, but I can’t help it. The thought invades, cruel, and so unwelcome.
Is this what he looked like when he killed Dad? The thought grows as I stare up into his possessed expression. Distantly, I wonder if this is an excuse, a way for me to get around telling him the truth.
“Stop,” I say, sitting up and shaking my head.
For a second, I’m not sure he’s going to. My mind gallops ahead, creating an entire scenario. This is what he did with Dad. An argument, maybe, and then Jamie got that glazed-over look and went completely feral. He didn’t just stop thinking about what he was doing. He couldn’t think about what he was doing anymore. He was as lost as he is now.
“Jamie.”
Finally, his eyes clear. He steps away, dropping his hands from his belt.
“I’m sorry,” I say, though I know, technically, I don’t have to apologize. Technically, I can stop this anytime, but I wish I could give myself to him without guilt, confusion, or anxiety. I wish it were simple.
“I don’t think I can,” I go on. “I shouldn’t have let things get this far.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
But I do want to. I almost wish he’d argue more, lie atop me, bring his rock-hard manhood to my entrance so I can feel him pushing, urging, coaxing. Then there would be no space for thought or doubt or anything else.