Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Easier said than done.
I twist one way and then another. It’s a lost cause. I’m too rattled to go to sleep like this. I know what will help take the edge off, but masturbating here with Jonas under the same roof feels even more reckless than anything I’ve done so far.
It’s not like he’ll know.
I can be quiet. I mean, sure, it’s the exception, but I can do it this once.
Maybe I’m a liar, but it’s too late. I snake my hand down my stomach and drag my fingers through my pussy folds. I’m so wet, I’m half surprised that I’m not making a mess of his sheets. The thought is simultaneously funny and so hot, I can barely stand it. I spread my legs more and tease myself, tracing my opening and spreading my wetness up and around my clit. It won’t take much to get me off, but I’ve always liked to savor my orgasms. Hard and fast does the trick in a pinch, but it doesn’t really accomplish the same thing one that I build slowly will.
On impulse, I grab the pillow and roll over. It’s crossing so many lines to be fucking myself with my fingers while my face is buried in Jonas’s pillow, but I’m too turned on to care. Besides, I can muffle any sounds I make this way. It totally makes sense.
I tease my opening and press two fingers in. It feels good, almost too good, so I trail my fingertips over my clit and back down again. I’m making little whimpering sounds now, but I can’t help it. I have to lift my hips a bit to get a better angle to fuck myself with my fingers, and the sheet slides off my ass. The bite of the chilly air only heightens my pleasure.
This just feels so dirty. I shouldn’t be doing it, so I want to do it more. I have been so good for so long. It’s not my fault that wild abandon sneaks through the cracks sometimes. I’m usually very careful to let off steam on a regular basis, but there hasn’t been time since I took over my father’s company. I’m working long, stressful hours in between collapsing face-down on my bed and sleeping like the dead.
I just need one little orgasm to get myself back under control. It’s such a simple ask. No one but me will ever know.
A creak of a floorboard is the only warning I get that I’m no longer alone. I open my eyes and freeze. Jonas is standing in the doorway, his fist raised to knock, the door hanging wide open. I must not have closed it all the way…
Why the hell am I thinking about that right now?
I should be moving, should be scrambling to cover myself, should definitely remove the two fingers I’ve penetrated myself with, but the look on his face freezes me in place. He’s staring at me like he can’t decide if this is dream or reality, but he really wants it to be reality.
I clear my throat. “Did you need something?”
“My toothbrush.” His voice is lower than normal, low enough that the faint rumble in it threatens to curl my toes.
Apparently we’re just going to pretend he can’t see what I’m very clearly doing. “Um, go ahead.”
But Jonas doesn’t walk to the bathroom. He slowly makes his way to the side of the bed and stares down at me. “Blake,” the quiet censor in his tone nearly makes me come on the spot. “You couldn’t wait five minutes before you started fucking yourself with your fingers in my bed?”
How am I supposed to answer that? I’ve been trying to make my peace with him rejecting me—again—and there’s no frame of reference for whatever’s happening right now. It’s like my brain skips and all I can do is blurt, “You weren’t going to do it.”
“Mmm.” His face is in the shadow cast by the open door, which means my body must be clearly outlined by the light. Jonas exhales slowly. “Well, don’t stop on my account.”
Surely I didn’t hear him correctly.
Except he’s sinking down onto the mattress behind me, and holy fuck, this is happening. Desire overcomes whatever brakes I have left and I begin to move again. I can’t see him, but I can feel him watching me.
Jonas tsks. “You’re doing a terrible job of it, baby girl.”
The endearment lashes me like fire and I moan. I can’t help it. “Think you can do better?”
“Oh, I know I can.” His voice changes a little, that dry tone going deeper yet. “I’m going to touch you now.”
“I might die if you don’t.”
His rough chuckle sounds as strained as I feel, and then it doesn’t matter because the mattress gives beneath his weight as he moves and he’s smoothing his hands over my ass. He slides my shirt higher up my back. Exposing me. “Better,” Jonas murmurs. He squeezes my ass as if measuring me, his rough palms dragging over my sensitive skin. “This gets to be too much, then you tell me to stop and I stop. Got it?”