Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“Did you know I haven’t ever seen a guy this close up before? I want to take advantage of the opportunity—since it’s you.”
A few things hit me at once. One, she doesn’t realize touching me, roaming her hands all over my body is going to eventually make me hard.
And two: Teddy just admitted she’s a virgin.
My brain kicks into overdrive, reacting to the soft glide of her palm over my cotton T-shirt. The path it takes down the center of my ab muscles, pausing when they involuntarily contract. Flex. Tighten.
Oh shit.
Ohhh. Shit.
“Wow, I knew you were ripped, but these are…” Her voice is low, full of wonder, the hum inside her throat one of appreciation. “Ridiculous.”
She makes another little sound of pleasure.
I don’t know what to fucking do—take her hand off me and tell her to respect my boundaries? Do us both a favor and roll away, creating distance?
Or let her explore and see where those curious fingers roam next?
Inside my mesh athletic bottoms, my dick stirs.
Twitches.
“You really are a gentleman, Kip.”
“I’m really not.”
She has no idea.
It stretches toward the fabric, alerted to the presence of a foreign hand, to the soothing female voice not far from my ear.
“Uh huh.” Her arms snakes around my middle, hugging me, body pressed so tightly against mine it’s as if we were one person. “Your skin is so warm. God you feel good.”
God you feel good?
Those are sex words, those are sex words, my body screams, even though Teddy isn’t being sexual—is she?
Nope. She’s snuggling me, for fuck’s sake.
Unless she’s not?
No, she definitely is.
Or maybe she’s not?
Shit, shit, fuck my life.
“Why are you so tense right now?” Comes a low, soothing voice. “Should I rub your back?”
“Jesus no!” I shout. “I mean—no thanks, I’m good.”
“You really must be tired, ’cause you’re so grouchy all of a sudden. Close your eyes and I’ll rub your shoulders.”
As she lies next to me, her innocent hands are already there, slowly rubbing circles over my collarbone, clavicle, and deltoid. Goddamn, it feels good.
Still…
“Please don’t.”
“Mmm, why not?”
“Because…” Because you just went Mmm, and it made my dick stiffen up, that’s why not. Does she really not get it? Or is she playing dumb? She can’t be this clueless.
Can she?
“Just relax, okay?”
“That’s not gonna happen.” I bark out a laugh, wanting to move away but paralyzed.
Her fingers brush the bottom of my beard then lightly caress my cheeks.
“Your skin is so soft where you don’t have hair—too bad there isn’t much of it showing.”
“Yup, just how I like it.”
“You know what girls always talk about when they see a guy with a beard?”
“How repulsive it is?”
“Uh, no.” Teddy laughs. “They talk about what it would feel like between their legs.”
“What?” Another laugh from her and I’m ready to fly off the damn bed. “You’re lying.”
“Did you not know that?”
“No.”
“Kip, they make T-shirts that say Bearded for her pleasure. You should get one—I’d get you one myself, but I’m broke, ha.”
“Wait—what?”
“Have you been living under a rock? Beards are so trendy right now. Even I know that, and I’m the untrendiest person I know. That doesn’t mean I like beards, but everyone else does—girls, I mean.”
That would explain so many things: girls still approaching me at parties, wanting to touch my beard. Touching my mustache at the bar. Making lewd comments. Telling me I should enter contests.
I always thought they were joking. Shit, maybe I have been living under a rock—otherwise known as the Midwest.
Teddy drones on, fingers at the base of my neck, kneading at a knot. “…and I saw a girl wearing one that said My other ride is a beard. Get it?”
She says it so casually, yet the sudden image of her sitting on my face while I suck on her—
Her throat gives a little mew, fingers still massaging my sensitive skin. “You’ve heard of a beardgasm before, haven’t you?”
“Stop.”
Her fingers stop.
“I didn’t mean you had to stop doing that, I meant stop saying shit like that, about beards and orgasms and crap.”
“Why?” She sounds about as perplexed as I’m feeling right now. “We’re just talking.”
“Because it’s getting me hard.” Er. Hard-er.
There. If that doesn’t scare her off, nothing will.
Seconds of silence pass.
Then minutes.
“Is it?” Her voice is barely a whisper. Fascinated.
“Yes.” Mine is gruff.
“Why?”
“Why?” I deadpan. “Because I’m in bed with a pretty girl, in the middle of the fucking dark, and her hand is on my body—one that hasn’t been touched in years, by the way. And you’re going on and fucking on about oral.” I pause to take a breath. “That’s why.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
I lift my arm, hand searching for hers in the dark. Remove it from my shoulder, clasping her fingers. Place it back on my stomach, where it belongs—away from my chest and nipples and face.
Where I hope it will stay.
But apparently, I’m a fucking moron, because it doesn’t.