Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
He spends long moments feasting on me and the entire time, he’s growling. I don’t know why but those possessive noises he makes only fuel my need. My panties are growing damp and I squeeze my thighs together, trying to get some of the friction I need. But it’s still not enough. I need more. I need Brennon there.
I whimper his name. “Lower.”
He lets go of my breast with a wet pop and takes a moment to stare down at me. The way he’s focused, it’s like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory. Like it matters to him. But it can’t matter to him. It can’t matter to me. This is a business deal. All we’re doing is confirming it. The thought causes a hollow ache in my chest I don’t fully understand.
He leans down again, trailing his lips and fingers across my stomach. Every kiss is gentle, and every touch is reverent. He worships the cellulite and adores the bumps. There’s not an area of my tummy that he isn’t lavishing with attention.
Then he moves to the waistband of my yoga pants. He glances up at me one more time, as if confirming I want this.
I nod, my cheeks warm and my pussy so swollen that it’s painful. Everything in me craves this man’s tongue on my skin, lapping at my folds and drinking my juices.
He pulls my pants and panties down, tossing them onto the floor. Despite my arousal, I start to close my legs. It’s too much. Too vulnerable.
But Brennon doesn’t let me hide. He pries my legs apart. He’s gentle but insistent, refusing to let me cover myself from his gaze. In that deep, gravelly voice, he says, “Love. The. View.”
His words have me relaxing into the couch. He’s been nothing but kind and reverent with my body. Sometimes, he looks like he can’t quite believe he’s getting to touch me.
He maneuvers my legs until my feet are flat on the sofa and my knees are in the air. Then he wedges his broad shoulders between my thighs. He parts my pussy lips as I stare at the ceiling and will myself to relax into the moment.
With anyone else, this wouldn’t be a big deal. But this is Brennon, my husband. The man who saved me from months, maybe even years of misery. He stepped in when he didn’t have to, and he’s been nothing but a gentleman.
The first slide of his tongue over my folds brings me back into the moment. There’s no way I can think about anything else when it feels so good to have his tongue there. He licks me a few more times, pausing to look up at me occasionally. That’s when I realize what he’s doing. He’s experimenting, trying to decide what I enjoy.
“I like it when you do it like that,” I tell him with the next pass of his tongue. He rolls it against my slick center and that’s my favorite thing.
He does it again and again until more moisture gushes from my pussy. We’re making a mess on his fancy leather sofa and the sounds of his big tongue against my drenched folds are obscene. But the knowledge only sends me higher, especially when he inserts one thick finger into my aching channel. That’s when I sigh in relief. I hadn’t even realized I was craving the sensation of being filled until he did that.
He thrusts in and out and for a moment, I let myself wish it were his cock. I wish he were above me, panting my name and telling me that I belong to him.
His tongue finds my clit at the same time he adds a second finger. I clench my pussy, unable to hold back the spasm. He’s giving me too many wonderful sensations at once. Tingles race down my spine, and I gasp his name again when he circles my clit again.
Brennon seems to know what I need because he never breaks his rhythm. He keeps licking and sucking and thrusting, giving me everything my body needs to soar higher and higher. When the orgasm hits, it knocks the breath from my lungs and for a moment I can’t see anything. There’s only the feeling of my husband giving me this exquisite pleasure.
Even as I float back down, he continues to pleasure me. His pace is lazier, slower this time. Despite the orgasm I just had, another immediately begins building. I’m so sensitive that I thread my fingers through his hair. “Too much.”
“One more,” he commands, his voice laced with a plea. He wants me to have this as much as I do, wants to watch me come apart in pleasure again.
He continues to work my body until I’m spasming, gushing into his beard and crying out his name. My body is covered in sweat, and I’ve never been so energized and exhausted at the same time.