Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Oh my God,” she cries, her voice stilted only by the failing effort to be quiet.
Fuck yes, to the sound of pleasure. I feel on top of the world.
She tastes better than I even imagined, and since the moment I met her, I’ve fucking imagined. Fruity and fresh and so fucking warm, it’s like her mouth on steroids, and I know with absolute certainty, if she’d let me, I’d stay here all night.
I moan right against her, swirling at her clit before circling and sucking at her center until the bow of her back rivals the curve of my mouth. “Lex,” I say, removing my mouth only briefly to get her attention and pull her eyes to mine.
We hold eye contact while I consume her entirely. Her eyes flutter and threaten to fold, but I reach up and grab her hand, entwining our fingers and willing her to stay with me through the peak—to stay with me until she can’t anymore.
I lick and tease and suck, latching on to the bud and flicking it with my tongue in the most intense of vibrations. Her body tenses, twists, and turns, until finally, the dam breaks, flooding my mouth with the greatest surge of Lexi Winslow’s pleasure.
And just like that, I’ll never, ever be the same.
Thankfully, from the look in her perfect, sultry blue eyes, neither will she.
Thursday, June 5th
Lexi
Blake’s wicked smile, flashing up at me from between my legs on Sunday night, dances in my mind as I jot down the directions Dr. Blevin is rattling off for our dissertation presentations at the end of the semester.
Normally, I’d be obsessing over every detail, overthinking the presentation order my professor’s chosen to the nth degree. Today, though? My brain is stubbornly stuck on the way Blake’s hands felt on my skin. The way he murmured my name like it was the only one he ever needed to say while his face was between my thighs.
The memory flares up again, my cheeks warming as I press my pen harder into the page.
At this point in my PhD program, meetings like this are rare, and yet here I am, trapped in the conference room for an update session that feels about as necessary as a parachute in outer space. Add in the fact that my mind is cycling through an NSFW highlight reel of Sunday night, and this academia gathering is starting to feel like I’m being waterboarded. I’d rather be hauled before a high fae court, burned by dragon fire, or stabbed by a venin—anything, really, disastrous or otherwise, from my mom’s friend Cassie’s collection of romantasy novels—than sit here, wasting another thirty minutes of my life.
“You’ll each have fifteen minutes to do your presentation, followed by thirty minutes of questioning and support,” Dr. Blevin drones on, blissfully unaware of my mental spiraling. “Then another fifteen minutes for closing statements and final defense. Papers are due two weeks before the semester’s end so Dr. Visson, Dr. Thomford, Dr. Leemer, and I have time to prepare your questioning.”
I nod absently, but my mind stays fixed on one undeniable fact—Blake has officially taken up residence in my head, and no amount of dissertation prep seems capable of evicting him.
“Is it just me, or is this starting to sound more like a juryless trial for an impending execution than anything else?” Ginger whispers from my side, startling me slightly but also making me smile.
She’s surprisingly pretty funny. Honestly, I should probably make an effort to hang out with her more outside the lab.
“Then, we’ll convene as a committee to deliberate and assess your success,” Dr. Blevin continues. “At which point, we will make a decision to pass you with no revisions, minor revisions, major revisions, or reject your defense altogether.”
There’s a small titter of gossip and overall unrest, so Dr. Blevin rushes to smooth it over.
“Now, I don’t see the last option as something we’ll be dealing with here, with this group, because each and every one of you has done your due diligence to go over your topics with your mentor professors and seek insight about their validity and workability.” He eyes us closely. “However, that doesn’t mean that if you aren’t properly prepared, you won’t be facing revisions and another defense at the end of the fall semester. Graduation with a doctorate at the end of this summer, my friends, is not guaranteed.”
“I guess there’s a reason they don’t just hand them out,” Ginger sidebars to me again.
I nod, penciling down a few notes—except, they have absolutely nothing to do with this meeting or my dissertation at all.
The subject instead? Blake Boden’s cunnilingus skills.
Slow is better than fast, but at the end, fast is better.
The element of surprise was scary at first, but the more it went on, the better it got.
Blake’s tongue muscle control is far superior to anything I could even remotely imagine mine being.