Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“What are you smiling at?” He takes a condom from his wallet before spinning the latter to the nightstand. The former he sheaths himself with quite beautifully, though I expect a man like him completes everything with a little panache. He’s probably had lots of practise because practise does make perfect . . . even if that realisation is less than—
Like a bubble popped, my thoughts are no more as my body registers the brush of him between my legs. Moonlight cuts across the room, casting us in shadow but for the stripe of light slicing his shoulders, which is where I find my hands as he grips the back of my thigh. Warm, silky, yet so hard, the press of his crown at my entrance makes me tremble. I gasp as he breaches me, anticipating haste and the size of him. Maybe looking forward to it, too. I wasn’t expecting him to take his time, for him to hold me, grip my attention as well as my body as he fills me with a kind of slow exquisiteness, his dark eyes never once leaving mine.
I’d known somehow it would be good, but what I hadn’t expected was intimacy.
“You feel so good.” His voice sounds tight, his words morphing into a low moan as he lifts my leg higher, giving me more.
Everything narrows to where our bodies meet, to where he fills me so deliciously. He’s so big and so hard, and when his body flexes against mine, my body reacts as though lashed by electricity.
“Yes! That’s—” A compliment I don’t complete as his mouth covers mine, inhaling my words.
“So good.” His words, his velvety groan, ignite a pulsing wave deep within me. “Jesus,” he whispers tightly. But then there are no more words as he begins to move. No words but sighs of praise as each drive and flex of his hips works me into a delirious kind of frenzy.
“Fuck, you are beautiful.” Still inside me, he pulls back, his eyes devouring the whole of me, the sweep of his gaze a tangible thing. “Look at how you take me.” His head dips to watch as he rewards us both with shallow jab of his hips, his body almost undulating above me. And it’s perfect, every second of this torture, every brush of his breath, and every halting whispered compliment.
I cry out as he falls against me, driving himself to the hilt with a groan, his hands grasping mine. Fingers linked, he pins them to the bed as he begins to move, hard and fast. The feeling of being under him, being held in place by him, being at his mercy as he takes his pleasure. And as he gives—oh, how he gives—drives me to the insane notion of keeping him there forever. I wrap my legs around him, his thrusts now shallow and fast, our whispers urgent and staccato.
Pleasure spirals through me as I revel in the feel of him over me. It’s almost as though I’m aware of every inch of our joined skins. And he watches me. Sees me. Enjoys the tilt of my body as it matches the rhythms of his. Our sighs layer, feminine over rough as his velvety whispers possess their own filthy kind of reverence as he tells me how tight I feel and how beautifully I take him.
A dark captivating ache begins to build as my body gives in to his masterful thrusts, everything ceasing to exist beyond this, beyond him, beyond how I feel and the ancient bed squeaking beneath us.
I could let him fuck me forever.
It’s my last sentient thought as I reach the peak and fall over the edge into the blissful abyss.
“I can feel you,” he rasps. “Sweet girl, I can feel you coming around my cock.” With those last words of encouragement and one more driving thrust, his body follows the rhythms of my own.
My body mourns the loss of his almost immediately as he collapses onto his back, the motion making a veil of my hair. Moments pass when neither of us speaks. Whether we don’t want to break the spell or we lack the energy, I’m not sure.
But eventually, I turn on my side to face him.
“You’re a man of many, many talents.” I sound like a heavy smoker as I slide my hand to the centre of his chest.
“Take it from me,” he says with a grin, “I fuck better than I fix cars.”
“You’re spoiling the fantasy.”
“Oh, yeah? What fantasy is that?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a fantasy,” I answer with a saucy tap to his chest.
“Not for long, it wouldn’t.” Lifting my hand, he brings it to his lips. His eyes gleam dark, his look lingering, the kind of expression that turns my insides molten once again. A look that leads to a kiss, and a kiss that leads to other things.