Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Of her.
I rammed my cock deep into that cunt, kept it there while I emptied, imagining there was nothing between us, and I’d creamed inside her instead of the rubber. I held her tight, shut my eyes and kissed her again, softly this time. Our sweat mingled on our foreheads, our lips.
Salt and sweet. Perfect.
“Wow,” she whispered, against my lips. “That was different.”
I kissed her one last time, then pulled out, gripping the base of the condom. The last time we’d done it, I’d fallen asleep inside her and woken with the condom drooping off my tip. I’d tossed it out in the middle of the night, half asleep.
It wasn’t a good practice to choke my dick in latex all night long, so I forced myself up, walked over to the trash can, and disposed of it.
I turned back to her, and a grin split my lips.
Riley lay on the bed, spread-eagled, her arms above her head, her legs wide open, her pussy swollen and red from me, and she glowed from the inside out. She shuffled into a sitting position, her hair half out of the updo she’d worn tonight. “What?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?”
“You wish.” I winked.
“Hey!”
I laughed and walked back to the bed then held out my arm. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s go get something to eat.”
“Naked?”
“Sure,” I replied. “What’s your favorite breakfast?”
“It’s eleven p.m.,” she said.
“And so? You never had brinner?”
“What the hell is a brinner?”
“Breakfast for dinner. Brinner,” I said and guided her toward the hall. We walked down it together, her arm through mine—we’d have been welcome at any fancy-dress party, if not for, uh, the naked thing. “It’s the best thing you’ll ever eat. So, what do you say? Eggs? Bacon? Pancakes?”
“Ooh, I love pancakes.”
“Pancakes it is.” I brought her through to the kitchen, sat her bare, adorable ass down on one of the stools in front of the kitchen island, then set to work.
“You don’t need my help?”
“I don’t like people fucking around with my shit,” I replied. “In almost every sense. We could plan to cook together some day, but on a whim? Hell no.”
“So, you need to be in control of everything all the time?”
I met her gaze, which had sharpened up. Had that hit a nerve with her? I wasn’t good with backing down or giving leeway. “That’s about the shape of it,” I said.
“I can relate to that,” she muttered. “I—like being in control too.”
“I told you,” I replied. “We’re the same. You’re the hard place, and, fuck it, I’m the rock.”
“What, like the wrestler?”
“He’s an actor now,” I replied and fetched a carton of milk from the refrigerator. I placed it next to the bowl and flour I’d already brought out, then bent and rooted around in the cupboards for the baking soda. “I bet I could take him.”
Riley giggled and balanced her chin in her hand, watching me as I whisked, fried, and flipped. The conversation spun from the Rock, to movies, to her favorite color, to mine. To everything we’d never talked about before this moment.
She loved France. Fuck it, she loved anywhere that wasn’t where she’d already spent the past thirty years of her life, and she adored chocolate syrup on pancakes.
Once we’d whipped them up, we carried our plates through to the living room, where we’d left the graveyard of our clothes.
“I’m surprised you didn’t burn yourself,” Riley said and sat down in on the sofa.
I sat beside her, balanced the plate on the arm of the couch. “Are you kidding? I’m a fucking pro at that shit. You know how many nights I’ve taken a shower and been too damn lazy to throw on any clothes before I whipped up something to eat? Cereal’s only so filling.”
Riley chewed on a piece of pancake. She was cute when she ate, neat too. She broke off and dabbed her lips with a napkin from the stack I’d set down on the coffee table.
I finished off my cakes and placed the plate down beside the pile, then brushed off my hands and set them on my thighs. “So,” I said.
“So?” she asked, around a mouthful of pancake.
We’d efficiently avoided the topic of journals or Veronica, or any of the other stuff that had worried her and pissed me off, but there was one thing I couldn’t hold back on, and I had to get it off my chest before it burst out of me like one of those alien creatures from a movie.
“What?” Riley asked, and set aside her pancakes. “What is it? You look like—I dunno, like you’re about to spew.”
“You need to think about the insemination thing seriously, Riley,” I said.
She jerked back against the sofa, and her tits bounced. “Excuse me?”
“You need to think it through. It costs money. And shit, I gotta admit I can’t stand the thought of another man’s spunk inside you,” I said.