Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“Take off your clothes and maybe I will,” I say.
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe you will.”
“I will,” I say firmly. I rake a hand through my thick hair, dying for pressure. “Or I could go take a nap, find the meaning of life alone—”
Farrow stands, just to remove his boxer-briefs. Fuck. His erection seems larger than I last remember. I’m staring. Hard.
His knowing smile returns. “That’s going to be in you.”
My breath shallows, and we kiss twice before he breaks from my mouth and kneels again. I clutch the dresser while he grips me, the pressure on my shaft torching my nerves. A coarse noise scratches my throat.
Farrow almost pauses.
Tell him my fantasy. “You push me on your bed. Not angrily. Just in the moment…” My head tries to tilt back, his mouth wrapped around me. Moving back and forth, back and forth. “Fuck me,” I groan, my knuckles whiten on the dresser, sweat built on my skin.
My waist bucks forward.
His hand replaces his mouth before I choke him. “And then?”
“It ends,” I lie.
He’s about to stand up, but I clutch his shoulder. Keeping him on his knees. “Then we wrestle for the top, and when you beat me, you fuck me how you usually fuck all guys.” Any other detail bursts in my brain.
Farrow rises to his feet, an inch taller, amusement behind his eyes. “Man, you don’t know what I do when I usually top.”
I stare at his mouth, my sarcastic retorts dying. “What do you usually do?”
His tattooed hand clutches my jaw, and his mouth brushes my ear, whispering, “You’ll see.”
I release my grip on the dresser and hold the back of his neck. He walks me backwards before I unglue my feet. Tonight, I don’t fight to be the one to guide him.
I just steal a deep kiss, and my legs hit the mattress. His palm to my abs, he shoves me down hard. My spine meets his black sheets. Breath knocking out of me.
Farrow climbs on top, and we’re all limbs and muscle, sweat and speeding heart beats. We wrestle for the lead, his strength all over me.
I’m burning up at a million degrees. Our mouths slam together, a fucking kiss that pushes my body against his. Closer. We tangle, then untangle, and Farrow pins me down. I’m lying on my chest, my knees digging into his soft sheets.
His pelvis is in line with my ass.
This position sends signals to my nerves to prepare for ultimate intensity. One last effort, I try to flip Farrow and hook his ankle.
Yeah, that doesn’t work.
I just concede.
My forehead almost touches the mattress. Breathing heavily.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Farrow stands off the bed, and I fixate on his movements while he walks bare-assed to the end table. His tattooed build is carved with lean muscle, and his fingers gently open the drawer. Pulling out condoms, lube, and he tosses a couple towels on the bed.
When he looks back at me, he smiles. “You love this.” His voice is a hundred percent gravel tied in silk.
Yeah.
I love how he moves. How he speaks, how he acts. Who he is. Just him.
I love all of him.
“Maybe,” I say confidently.
He checks me out like I just did to him. How I’m on my knees, my forearms, and I’m waiting for him. The bed undulates as he climbs back. Staying behind me.
I relax my muscles. It’s easier for me since we’ve led up to this point. Especially after New Year’s Eve in the hotel. My body trusts him. I trust him, and I’m not even partially afraid.
God, I just want him.
Craning my neck over my shoulder, I watch him rip open a condom and then sheath his erection. He places his knees on either side of my waist, his confidence like a hammer to my pulse.
He clutches my ass with that tattooed hand, and then teases me open with two fingers, the lube warm. God. My chest tightens, breath twisted in my lungs.
Farrow studies my body’s reaction. That felt fucking good. Not bad. He sees, and slowly…slowly, he starts to push into me.
My head swings forward, the sensations gripping my nerves. Not able to watch, I bite down, nose flaring at the build-up—oh fuck. I growl into a groan as he goes deeper, deeper.
“Fuck,” he mutters, letting out a shallow breath. “I didn’t think you’d be this tight.” He shifts his knee slightly, pushing even further into me. Fuck me.
Farrow rocks forward, thrusting in a perfect rhythm. I can’t concentrate on words. My vocabulary dwindles to fuck and Jesus Christ.
While I’m underneath him and he’s above me, he places his palms flat on the mattress. Only an inch above my hands that fist his black sheets. His inked arms stretch like pillars beside my biceps. He practically shields me with his body—as he rams in and out.