Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 55093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“Just do whatever feels right baby.”
She moved experimentally slow at first, first moving her hips back and forth then up and down. Pretty soon she was slamming her pussy down hard on my cock and I held her hips so she didn’t fly off my dick. “Play with your breasts, baby…trust me.” I had to encourage her when she looked at me skeptically.
Her hands moved to her tits and she started off slowly, pulling them out and away from her body before circling her palms over them. Soon she was tugging at her nipples as I squeezed her ass hard, making her pussy tighten even more around my cock. From the way she thrashed her head from side to side, I knew she was feeling what I’d expected.
Her pussy juiced even harder and ran down onto my thighs. Her head went to one side and she concentrated on working my cock with her pussy. I caressed her amazing ass as she fucked me, moving my thumbs to the crease until I found her little rosebud. I slid just the tip of my finger into her ass and she went off like a rocket.
I waited until she came down from her orgasm before lifting her off my cock and putting her on her back. I slammed back into her, which wasn’t easy because she was still moving, humping air in the throes of another mindless orgasm. Sliding into her pussy while she was cumming was a whole other experience and it wasn’t long before I was in danger of breaking the bedframe this time.
“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck…” I almost yelled myself hoarse as something inside her, sucked the very essence out of me. If there was a time I knew for sure that I’d bred her, it was then. I pulled her roughly into my arms and sealed her lips with mine. Pouring everything I felt in that moment into her.
EMILY
He’s like two people separate people, a chameleon in fact. All morning I kept watching him. When he left the room and came back with breakfast after what felt like a sexual marathon. When he washed me in the shower before getting to his knees beneath the running water and buried his head between my thighs.
When we sat out on the balcony while his housekeeper changed the sheets. When he held my hand while he read the morning paper and I looked out at the scenery below. When he called his office and told them he was taking the day off. When he watched me while I called my mother to tell her I wouldn’t be home until later; not that she’d noticed I was gone.
I watched him through all this, feeling myself fall deeper and deeper under his spell. Because through all this, some part of him was always touching some part of me. I stayed constantly aware of his nearness until it got to the point that if he removed his hand for the merest seconds I felt bereft. I came to crave his touch that quickly.
Whether it was the famous hand on my nape holding me in place while he made that phone call. Or rubbing my back while I made mine, the way that hand rested on my ass while he introduced me to his housekeeper while jokingly telling her not to sic his mom on him just yet, (I still don’t know what that meant).
Every little touch that would’ve seemed like nothing more than basic human contact from anyone else, took on new meaning. It was the way they made me feel. The fact that it seemed like he couldn’t resist, and the effortless way in which he did it. Like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to need to be that close to me at all times.
I almost shot out of my chair and made a run for it when the truth finally hit me square in the gut. I’m in love with him. “What is it?” He squeezed my hand but didn’t look up at me. How had he known? When I didn’t answer he squeezed my hand and finally looked at me. I felt… not trapped exactly, but there was something approaching fear crawling up my lungs from my gut.
“I… nothing.” Suddenly I felt like crying. He squeezed my hand again and went back to reading the paper and I thought, ‘oh well, he’s just like every other man I’ve ever heard of. Inattentive and stupid. And then, “Don’t worry. It’ll get easier.” He said the words so matter-of-factly I didn’t catch his meaning at first.
“What will?” There was a lump in my throat and my heart was in danger of breaking apart in my chest. Wasn’t love supposed to be soft and light and sweet? Maybe this wasn’t love after all. So why did it feel like I’d die if he left me? This was so confusing. How can something this huge jump out of nowhere at you? Without warning, without buildup?