Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I taste faint sweat and aftershave as I kiss Whit’s neck. He moves on top of me, and the old futon creaks.
I worry for three seconds that we’re going to break the frame, but then he shudders on top of me, and I don’t care to stop him. I’m not that worried. Other than not being able to afford to replace it.
Eh. Don’t care. My couch can be the futon without the frame.
I’ve never been so turned on by grinding against someone. I trail a hand down his back and grip his ass. His cock leaves a wet trail on my burning skin.
I run hot but shiver with want.
My hand inches closer to Whit’s ass crack, and I don’t really know what I’m doing until my middle finger is pressing against his hole.
He stills on top of me and lifts up to look into my eyes. “What … I mean … Is this—”
“I’m still firm on holding off, but I know you want more. I was thinking …” I tease his rim.
“Yes. I am so ready for that.”
“Have you ever, you know …”
“Yeah. My ass is well acquainted with my fingers.”
“Good to know.” And hot to think about. Holy fuck, the thought of Whit fingering himself is probably even more arousing than the idea of me doing it to him.
Whit’s eager for it, working against my fingertip, but then he pauses. “Wait.” He sits up and takes my arm, bringing my fingers to his mouth.
He opens those fuckable lips and sucks two of my fingers right down so they’re covered in spit.
I want to tell him I bought lube after the last time we hooked up, but I don’t. He looks too hot with my fingers in his mouth while he’s straddling my lap and slowly moving against me. The other reason I don’t want to point out the lube situation is I don’t want to give Whit false hope that I’m ready for more just yet.
I want to explore. I want more fun. I’m loving what we’re doing, and I don’t want that to change or to add pressure to what’s already a heightened situation.
Whit’s eyes close, and he looks desperate for it. I remove my fingers from his mouth and reach around him, cupping his head with one hand and pulling him back down on top of me with the other.
Our bodies move as one, our mouths collide, our breathing syncs, and our moans respond to each other as if this is our only form of communication now.
With Whit on top of me, I tease his hole but don’t push inside right away. I let his hips get me there and leave him in complete control. He moves his hips, maneuvering to take my finger inside him to the first knuckle.
Whit’s mouth breaks from mine, and a shuddery breath leaves his lips. “More.”
He sits up again, and I add a second finger. His strong hands land on my chest as he rides my fingers.
This is the part I love. I love watching him lose his composure. I love seeing him let go.
With my other hand, I reach between us and stroke our cocks together.
“Oh, fuck.” His grip on my chest tightens.
He moves with abandon now, as if he has no control over his body.
He rides me hard, and I grip us tight. His cock glides in and out of my fist, dragging along my own dick. It feels so good, but the sight of Whit, his eyes shut, a cute concentration line above his brow, that’s the thing that gets me teetering on the edge.
I jerk us faster until my muscles ache and my body can’t take anymore.
My cock erupts between us, cum spurting out in streams and covering my abs and groin.
“Rainn.” Whit’s voice is strained, and he follows me over the edge, coming on a hoarse cry.
He collapses on top of me.
I run my hand down his back. “We definitely need to work out a schedule so we can do this again. And again and again and again.”
He nods against me. “When my season’s over, I can come to the bar and stay on Saturday nights. On Sundays we can go do stuff. Like all the festivals and shit coming up.”
“Festivals?”
Whit lifts his head. “Yeah, you know all the small-town events all over Vermont, like Cheese Wheel Race Day. It’s treated like an Olympic sport.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah, well, umm …”
“Not your thing, I’m guessing?”
“Not really. You know what my idea of a perfect Sunday morning is?”
“What?”
I lean up and kiss his cheek. “Waking up next to you. Getting coffee. Hanging out. I’m a pretty easy guy to please.”
Whit doesn’t seem to like that answer. “What about on your nights off? If I drive into town, will you at least take me to dinner?” His voice takes on an edgier tone I’ve never heard from him.