Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Blake,” I gasp.
He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy setting a fast, relentless pace that steals my breath and my sanity. His thrusts are so deep, so deliciously violent, that our bodies slide forward on the hall floor. My head bumps into something—a duffel bag, I think. I don’t care. Nope, don’t care and hardly notice as his jackknifing hips practically fuck us all the way into the living room.
I cling to his shoulders and squeeze my eyes shut, letting the pleasure take over. When the orgasm comes, it’s not in lazy, pulsing waves but an instant explosion of bliss. I shudder and curse and forget my name.
I vaguely register a growl from Blake. An agonized “fuck yeah,” punctuated by one final thrust and then the ferocious trembling of his body.
It takes several minutes before we’re able to move. I’m pretty sure I’m in cardiac arrest. Blake’s chest heaves as if he’s just skated his ass off to kill back-to-back penalties.
Eventually he speaks, his voice laced with humor. “Front hall—check. What room should we tackle next?”
Chapter 28
Mick Jagger Is Yelling at Me
Blake
I don’t want to move. Actually, I might be physically incapable of moving. Sex marathons tend to do that to you.
But as much as I want to stay in bed all day with Jess Canning wrapped around me like a full-body scarf, the sunlight streaming in through the curtains tells me that it’s morning. Or at least I hope it’s morning, because I have practice at ten. Shit, I hope we didn’t sleep through the alarm.
Trying not to wake Jess, I carefully lift my head and crane it toward the clock. Eight fifty. Nice. I’m right on schedule. I stretch my arm out to turn off the alarm before—
“IF YOU START ME UP!”
“Fuck,” I curse when an explosion of music rocks the bedroom. I have the song programmed so that it skips the intro and gets right to the good stuff.
“I’LL NEVER STOP!”
Except the good stuff is loud.
A tortured groan sounds from the mattress. “Why is Mick Jagger yelling at me?” Jess wails.
I finally manage to shut off the alarm and grin down at the grumpy blond in my bed. “Sorry, babe. I like to wake up with the Stones.”
“Well, I like to wake up with my eardrums intact.” She sits up and rubs her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine.”
That gets her attention. “Crap!” She flies off the bed with a burst of speed that my coach would be proud of. “I have to go!”
“Me too.” I move a bit slower, staggering to my feet. “What do you have going on today? I’m not sure I’ll have time to drop you at the dorms this morning. Practice starts at ten.”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine taking the subway,” she says as she ducks into the master bath. “I have a meeting with my program director at eleven.” Her voice grows muffled as she turns on the faucet. “…come back.”
“What was that?” I bulldoze my way into the bathroom, flip open the toilet lid, and grip Snake Riley in one hand.
“Blake!” she sputters in dismay. “Why are you peeing in front of me!”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s…it’s…” She gives up and turns back to the sink. “Do you have a spare toothbrush?”
“Second drawer.” I finish my business and flush, then walk over to stand next to Jess. His and hers sinks, baby. I laughed at the real estate lady when she raved about that particular feature, but now I’m digging it.
Jess and I brush our teeth side by side. I make silly faces at her in the mirror, and she laughs so hard she spits out a mouthful of toothpaste and it drips down onto her bare tits.
“Gross,” she says with a sigh, then bends over to wash her chest.
I admire the view of those perky puppies swaying over the sink. Then I admire her round ass. And her firm thighs. And her cute feet and bright red toenails. I could get used to this. Waking up next to Jess every morning, doing this whole domestic routine together.
I force myself to quit leering at her. My dick is already semihard and getting harder, and we don’t have time for a quickie. “What were you saying before?” I prompt. “About your meeting?”
She rinses her mouth before shutting off the tap. “My final grades come back today,” she confesses, and there’s a deep furrow between her brows. “The director meets with all the first-year students one on one to discuss their first trimester’s grades and performance.”
“You still worried about the pharmacy exam?” I ask sympathetically.
“Pharmacology,” she corrects. “And yes.”
“Don’t. I bet you aced it.”
“I wish I could be as confident as you.”
A smile touches my lips. “That’s your problem, J-Babe. You’re lacking in confidence.” I shift closer and capture her delicate chin with one hand. “Look at that hottie in the mirror,” I order.