Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Because yeah, I’m doing her all the time now. At first, I figured it was just a one-time thing. I was gonna taste that snatch, I was gonna help myself to what every other guy in town was already getting.
But shit, Anna was a virgin. The redhead had never been touched, and the realization set off a flurry of doubt in my mind. Because what Jezebel is a virgin? Anna should have serviced dozens, if not hundreds of men by now. And yet the slick of red on my dick was proof that she was untouched, no girl can fake that shit.
So after that first night, I stalked off into the woods, determined to face my demons. Damn, maybe I had gotten the wrong girl. Maybe I’d picked up an innocent female, determined to teach her a lesson, and it’d all gone haywire. I shook my head furiously, pacing back and forth in the forest. If that was true, then I’d fucked up mightily.
Enraged, I spent hours in the wild, storming back and forth, roaring with anger, belting my misery into the woods. And finally, a resolution came to mind. There was no mistake. Robert Morgan doesn’t make mistakes, certainly not giant fuck-ups like this, so I was keep going. Anna was my prisoner, and until then, we were staying in this isolated cabin.
Except I couldn’t resist her. Stalking back to the house, I let myself into the darkened interior. The smell of some delicious stew hit my nostrils, but I steeled myself. So what if she could cook? Lots of females can cook, it’s not a magic skill.
And locking myself in the downstairs bedroom, I sat on the bed, huge frame hulking. Go to sleep, my brain commanded. Go to sleep, tomorrow is another day.
But my body just wouldn’t obey, and before I knew it, I was storming up the stairs, banging open the door to her room. And shit, but it was ON. We were fucking like animals within seconds, her pussy wet, willing and wild, my dick homing in like a missile on its target.
Was I kind? Was I a giving, gentle lover, since the redhead was a recent virgin? Hell no. The animal in me took over and I fucked that sweet twat like it was last time ever, slapping her nips while pummeling that vag. And even worse, I made her drink my sperm. Yeah, I forced those gorgeous lips down to the bedspread and made her drink my jism like a cat licking up cream.
I’m fucked. I’m so fucked. I’m addicted to the girl, and in the month since taking her virginity, everything’s been turned on its head. Anna’s no longer locked up in her room. Instead, I come to her bed every night and drill that pussy until it’s senseless. Yeah, you heard me right. Every. Single. Fucking. Night. I lose myself in her softness, her sweet, mewling cries, her cunt clamping around me again and again as she creams on my dick.
And we’ve settled into happy domesticity to boot. Oh yeah, Anna cooks three meals daily, humming around the cabin, sweeping and tidying things, breaking only for a hot afternoon session in the sack. And then dinnertime comes around, and she serves me up another gourmet meal before we hit the sheets again, the female’s legs parting for a second dose of my cum.
But surprisingly, the redhead and I get along pretty well. We have real conversation in addition to the hot sessions, which surprises the shit out of me.
“So you’re a writer?” she asked one day, while ladling out some hot soup.
I grunted, taking a deep breath, inhaling the tangy tomato aroma. Shit, the girl had made gazpacho from scratch and it smelled incredible.
“Yeah,” I grunted, lifting the spoon to my lips. “Yeah, I’m a writer.”
“Would you tell me your pen name?” she asked, sweet chin propped up on one hand. “Would you Robert?”
I swallowed, brain kicking furiously. My author name is private, something that I don’t generally share. But what the fuck. We were already off the reservation with the kidnapping and imprisonment, what was there left to lose?
So I grunted.
“Robert James,” came my terse reply. “I’m also known as Robert James.”
The girl gasped, eyes going wide.
“You’re the Robert James?” she whispered, inhaling deeply, those big boobies rising. “The crime fiction writer? Oh my god, I’ve read all of your books!”
I grunted again noncommittally.
“Yeah, business has been good for the last couple years. Better than good, great.”
Anna nodded furiously.
“You’ve been on the New York Times bestsellers list how many times now? Six? Seven?”
“Ten,” I said, smiling despite myself. “And hoping for an eleventh with my next release.”
“Of course it’ll be a hit!” exclaimed the redhead, almost bouncing in her chair, she was so excited. “You’re so talented, the way you word things, the plot development, and the characters. Oh my god, I’m in love with Michael Phoenix, he’s so sexy.”