Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Now, it’s been forced on us with this close proximity.
If only she would bend a little and admit to herself that it’s okay to date your roommate—we just need a new set of rules to follow instead of the ones laid down and written on the sheet of paper that’s hanging in the kitchen.
New set of rules.
I shall propose that in the morning.
Good idea, chap. You’re onto something with that idea…
Eliza is still only wearing a T-shirt and underpants, and with my hands on her arse, it feels like I’m rubbing bare flesh.
Bare skin.
Bare butt cheek.
I should ransack her closet and toss out each and every pair of her pants, leggings, and sweats—this arse is smooth and fits perfectly in my hands.
I sigh into her mouth contently as we snog horizontally, my cock nestled into the valley between her warm thighs; it’s snug and cozy in there, my dick feeling quite at home. Wants to erect a sign by her pussy that says No Trespassing.
Mine.
We snog some more.
Tongue, teeth, lips.
It’s wet and hot.
Still unsure about Eliza’s intentions, I let her lead the way, lying beneath her patiently as she rubs up on me. She must be aware of my throbbing hard-on, but she hasn’t mentioned it, hasn’t reached between our bodies to stroke it or given it a squeeze with her thighs.
To be fair, I don’t know a whole helluva lot about what we’re doing; sure, I had sex with my ex-girlfriend, but toward the end, the occurrences were few and far between. Caroline had no interest in it, always leaning on the usual excuses: too tired, had a headache, had her period. Hated oral—giving and receiving.
Hated cuddling.
Probably hated me, too.
And so, despite my gender and despite the fact that I am certainly no virgin, I don’t profess to have a blasted clue what I’m doing with someone new.
Eliza’s kisses are tentative but passionate, her full lips wreaking havoc on my lower half, sending every nerve in my body into orbit. My brain cells leave, too, therefore no one is driving this plane.
I am putty in her hands.
Our lower halves are a perfect fit, our best bits lining up just so, penis and vagina and legs and toes rubbing so brilliantly I moan into Eliza’s mouth.
She moans back.
My fingers sift through her hair, pulling her in closer. Heads tilt, tongues clash, teeth gnash.
She wants me as badly as I want her, and now neither of us are pretending we just want to be friends, thank God.
Don’t start praying now, you wanker.
Or do.
Shite. What if I stop praying and she stops rubbing her pussy against my dick and decides I’m shite in the sack and goes back to her room?
You are shite in the sack—who are you kidding?
Now is not the time to be a pessimist.
I sit here arguing with myself so long that I barely notice Eliza sitting up, straddling my thighs, pulling her T-shirt over her body, and tossing it to the floor. Holy hell, now she’s got nothing on but her panties—she’s practically naked and I’m practically naked and we’re lying in bed practically naked.
Fuck, even my thoughts are rambling.
The thunder agrees with my assessment, booming outside so ferociously that Eliza lowers herself quickly and buries her face in the crook of my neck; my hands go to her back, fingers pressing into her spine, sliding up and down to calm her.
She’s breathing heavy.
And just when I think she’s going to cower—roll into the comforter and hide under the covers—I feel the telltale sign of lips on my neck.
A hand on my waist.
Soft pressure of her mouth on my pulse.
Note to self: storms freak Eliza the fuck out, but they also make her horny.
Excellent.
I lie still, letting her lavish attention on my body, letting her lead the way; it’s not my style to make the first move anyway, unless I know someone is interested.
When she wiggles, her bare tits flatten against my chest, and my hands graze her smooth skin.
She feels so good.
Yes, she’s naked, but having her on top of me would feel good regardless if she donned a marmish nightgown or a sexy bra set or a raggedy T-shirt. I love it no matter what.
I find her incredibly sexy, this little pixie of a girl.
Her mouth moves from my neck to my lips, and when they meet, our tongues clash in the most delicious way. It’s wet and sexy and passionate, almost fervent and desperate on Eliza’s end, and I know it’s because she’s scared and nervous, mostly because of the weather outside this room.
I don’t want her making out with me because she’s afraid and this is taking her mind off it; I want her to want this with me because she likes me back.
“Are you sure about this?” I tear my mouth away for a brief second so I can ask.