Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Wow, he got off just on me admitting it.
And I got off on him getting off on that.
I wriggled closer to him.
He moved a hand to cup a cheek of my ass.
I read that and stopped wriggling.
That made his eyes flash too.
Wow again.
This was fun.
“I can’t say it didn’t surprise me,” I went on. “I can say what also wasn’t lost on me was that I submitted because you demanded it. It works. I…” I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t have a ton of experience with sex. I’ll admit, though, I’ve never been fully comfortable with it, except with you. I’ve learned with you I need to give over like that. I can get out of my head and let you take care of me. In turn, I get to take care of you. It works in a way I didn’t get before, and I mean not getting what I needed before, also not understanding that I needed it.”
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck,” he groaned again.
Then I was on my back, bearing Hale’s weight, and he was kissing me.
When he finished doing that, he returned us to our previous position, but this time I was straddling him, and he had both hands on my ass.
That was it, he wasn’t taking it anywhere, so I laid my head on his shoulder and my weight against him.
Our silence lasted so long, I felt compelled to ask the question he asked me earlier.
“You okay?”
“I missed you.”
I began to lift my head.
He squeezed my ass and said, “Don’t move.”
I halted, then rested against him again.
“I’m pleased as fuck that conversation went the way it did. And I want you to know, I’ve never fucked a woman in this bed. This house. I’ve never even brought a woman here. Not since I was in high school.”
Oh God.
He was sharing, and I was learning Hale needed closeness when he shared, but he also needed to control it, like making me not look at him even if I was plastered against him, while he gave me something deep, something important.
And I loved when he shared with me, and now, what he was sharing.
So much, my eyes started stinging.
“It means a lot to me you’d listen to that, be willing to explore,” he went on.
“I wish I could say it was selfless, but I get something out of it too, handsome,” I reminded him.
His hands left my ass so he could wrap both arms around me.
“It means a lot to me,” he repeated. “Including that.”
I didn’t know what was in his head, but I sensed it was big and I sensed it wasn’t about the fact we suited in bed, since he already knew that, he’d just explained the depth of what that meant.
I also didn’t press. His vibe was telling me he’d shared what he intended to share, and now I needed to give him space with that.
I did it as long as I could, but I was leaking into his crotch, which might get on his sheets, so I told him something he had to feel.
“I’m leaking, Hale.”
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Stay still.”
He reached between us, rubbing me gently, rubbing himself.
The feel of it made me start to squirm.
“Never satisfied,” he muttered.
“It’s your fault,” I said into his neck.
“Mm,” he hummed, then slid a finger inside me.
I gasped and clenched it.
“Hungry little baby,” he mumbled.
“It’s been three weeks,” I whispered.
He finger fucked me. “What are you gonna do to earn it?”
“What would you like?”
He used his thumb to tweak my clit.
My hips jerked, and I whimpered.
Okay, learning…that was a reward.
Nice.
“Can you stay still?” he asked.
No way.
“I’ll try.”
“You’ll need to stay still. Perfectly still.”
Oh boy.
My pussy clenched again.
A noise sounded in his chest.
“Be good,” he warned, still finger fucking me.
“Okay,” I wheezed.
I heard his chuckle.
In the end, I tried, I really did.
But I couldn’t pull it off.
I had to be bad.
So when Hale left me in bed to go get a cloth to clean himself from me (both the first and the next), my ass still stung.
But the rest of me felt great.
It was after I sat wearing Hale’s OP shirt, no panties (at his decree), drinking wine and watching him cook (incidentally, dinner was smushed, seasoned, roasted brussels sprouts with a balsamic glaze, baked salmon and lemony quinoa).
That all happening after he’d given me a full tour of his fantastic beach house.
We were back up in his room.
Not true.
We were upstairs on his personal balcony. He had a bucket chair up there, tucked in a corner, big enough for two.
And he hadn’t forgotten dessert this time. Lime yogurt cake with whipped cream and lime syrup.
It was insane.
My boyfriend, so sweet.
We’d had dessert up there, so our spent plates and forks were on the side table with the remains of a bottle of rosé in a marble chiller.