Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
I have to. It’s a necessity. Our intimacy.
Our existence depends upon it.
I’d smile but I have a mouthful of him. I suck him up and down, but the sexiness of this moment, of how Donnelly is bowed forward and guiding me, truly overwhelms my body, and I try not to moan around his dick.
He flexes his hips upward, brings my head down, making me take more in my mouth, and I’m melting into the moment, into the movement. I realize I’ve stopped doing the work and let him completely take over. It’s even better. I’m unthinking and just feeling.
He’s practically fucking my mouth, and when my eyes flit up to his, his hand clenches in my hair, his muscles constricting.
Ohhhh. He starts to come, about to pull out, but I want to taste him. So I give him a look to stay. He does. When he’s out of my mouth, he asks, “You need to spi…?” He trails off, seeing me swallow his load, and his smile turns into a light laugh. “Taste like top-tier man?”
“Uh-huh. Only the greatest kind.”
He kisses my cheek, then nips my earlobe, and I laugh and crawl back on him, the pulsing between my legs screams for Donnelly, and he leans back, his head hitting the pillow. I straddle him, and his hands settle against my ass.
I touch the tip of my nose to the tip of his nose, staring directly in his eyes. “How was that?”
“I dunno, how’s this?” He thumbs my clit, underneath my panties, and within three circles over the wet bundle of nerves, I jellify and cry into a mind-blowing orgasm.
Holy…wow, wow, wow. I fall on top of him, breathing hard, and he’s laughing. I start laughing with him when oxygen returns to my lungs, and I roll onto my back beside Donnelly.
He perches on his forearm, looking down at me. “And to answer you, that was my favorite blow job I’ve ever had.”
I smile. “It was out-of-this-world extraordinary,” I sing-song. “For me too.” I can see how much he loves me, just by looking, and it feels like the world is bestowing a gift upon me: To see love so fully expressed and to be its lucky recipient. In a quieter beat, I ask, “Why was it your favorite?”
He pushes a piece of sweaty hair off my forehead. “Besides it being with you, that was the most control I’ve ever had during a blow job.” He grins over me. “Thanks for trusting me to face-fuck you, space babe.”
I beam at how he says that. “Well,” I say, trying to be very, very serious, “I wouldn’t let you die.”
His grin is my whole universe, it feels like. It contains every vibrant planet, every beautiful constellation, all the wishes made upon every shooting star. “No, you wouldn’t,” he breathes.
As our bodies slacken, as affection is shared in the silence, I ache for something different. Softly, I murmur, “Can you hold me?”
And so I find myself curled up against his warmth. He spoons me in the back of the truck, under the sleeping bag. Beneath the stars. I hold on to his forearms that wrap around my chest, and he buries one more kiss against my neck.
Somewhere deep-down, I know that I’ve never felt closer to Paul Donnelly than I have this night.
We wake to the early light. Squinting, I watch Donnelly stretch a shoulder and give me a sexy morning grin. My hair feels ratty and tangled, but I don’t brush my fingers through the strands.
“Merry Christmas,” I say, my lips rising as I sit up in the truck bed.
He slips me another smile while searching around for his phone. “Merry Christmas to you.” The look he gives me is as dirty as it is romantic. Kinda like last night. He asks, “How’d you sleep?”
I shrug, the sleeping bag slipping off my shoulders. As soon as the chill hits, I tug it back up. “Not too bad. The foam pads were a good call—” I cut myself off as his phone rings.
“Fuck,” he mutters, finding it much easier. He frowns at the random number, then answers it against his ear. Not even a half-second later, he pulls it down, then tells me fast, “I gotta take this.” He hurdles the truck, landing bare-footed on gravel, until he jams his feet into boots.
I must be breathing oddly. He instantly rushes back to me, cups my cheek. “I love you.” He loves me. “I’m not going far.” He’ll be back. He kisses me.
I’m worried for him. I can feel how much he doesn’t really want to go. The kiss is reluctance to leave but also urgency.
As we break apart, I ask him, “Who’s calling?”
His eyes crash into mine in a slo-mo collision. “My mom.”
26
PAUL DONNELLY
Shoes on, I walk as far away from Luna as I can. Like the phone in my fist is a ticking bomb, and it shouldn’t be within five-hundred feet of her. Didn’t even have time to thank the truck for my favorite Christmas morning: Holding my girlfriend as dawn met the sky.