Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Not resisting the urge to touch, I let my hands get to know her too. I’ve felt her up in the bathroom, but I can touch her until sunrise, and it won’t be enough. Her skin is soft and warm. The muscles underneath are toned. She doesn’t stir when I brush my hand over her abdomen. Only her stomach quivers under my palm.
I cup the triangle between her thighs and thread my fingers through the dark curls. That inexplicable urge to be rough overcomes me again. The desire isn’t born from violence. It comes from an urge to caress something so fiercely that a touch can’t be a gentle brush of fingertips. It has to be a hug that cuts off air, a kiss that bites, a grip that possesses. I close my fingers harshly, pulling hair and digging my nails into warm, damp skin. I want this part of her so much that if I don’t check myself, I’ll crush her like I’ll burst a juicy ripe orange in my fist, mashing it into a delicious, sticky mess and covering my face in it as I fall on the feast like a starving beast.
Wiping away the sting of my touch, I stroke lower. Between her legs. She’s warmer there. Wetter. Her hips are beautifully curved. Her ass fits perfectly in my palms. Her slender legs will look so pretty when she wraps them around my waist. How flexible is she? Will I be able to arrange her thighs over my shoulders and fold her double as I surge inside her, going deeper and harder until I’ve found all her secret spots? No doubt she’ll look stunning, no matter in which way I bend her. Over my lap. On her hands and knees. Riding me. She’ll be a picture that makes me hard from any angle.
She’s perfect.
All mine.
Every inch of her, inside and out.
Moving down her body, I rub her feet. She has a dancer’s feet—narrow with a high bridge. The arches are pronounced. She was made for wearing heels or walking on her toes. With the pink polish on her toenails, her small foot in my big hand is overwhelmingly feminine. I pull away the covers and push her legs wide apart. Just as a precaution, in case she wakes too soon, I use the belts of the twin robes in the bathroom to tie her wrists to the bedpost. I don’t want her to hurt herself in a panic.
Lying spreadeagled, she’s a sight to behold. I can look at her all night, but my work isn’t done. I get my razor and shaving gel from the bathroom, set a towel underneath her ass, and get busy.
First, I trim the curls with hair scissors, and then I shave her pussy clean. I don’t mind body hair. I don’t have a particular preference, but the view is as hot as hell. She’s exposed for my observation, presented for no other purpose but my looking pleasure.
And I do look. She’s swollen from our fucking, red and plump, ripe for the picking. After wiping the shaving cream away, I pat her skin dry and learn her shape by tracing the outline of her pussy lips with my thumb. I part her with no more than the tip of my finger, revealing the button at the top of her slit that triggered her orgasm.
But feeling and looking aren’t enough. Burying my head between her legs, I inhale deeply. She smells like soap and musk. Like woman. My woman. Unable to resist tasting her again, I lick her from top to bottom. This time, I’m unrushed. You taste more when you swallow slower.
I like that no one but me has had his tongue inside her. I like the way that little button swells in my mouth when I suck. I like how her inner muscles grip my finger when I sink it up to the knuckle inside her. I love to touch every inch of her, love how she feels all over her body, but I’m fucking addicted to how she feels inside. The wetness that coats my tongue makes me delirious. I growl around her, biting down as the knowledge that I turn her on, even in her sleep, drives me insane. I’m like an animal with her. I want everything.
If she could come in her sleep, I’d bring her to a climax right now, using my fingers, teeth, and tongue. Does she feel pleasure in her unconscious state? She’s slicker, her arousal like nectar on my lips. The way her body reacts to my touch pleases me beyond measure. I was made to coax orgasms from her, and I’ll do so by honorable or unscrupulous means. By any means necessary. She was made to give me her pleasure.
I haven’t had my fill, not by a long shot, but I force myself to stop. To sit back. To look at her. Naked, like this. Naked everywhere. Fuck, she’s beautiful. So pretty. So stunning. No longer innocent because I took that. I’ll take everything. All of her.