Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I never even push her head down, but she still gags.
Probably ten times before she’s able to work her way even a third down my shaft, her eyes glowing with determination.
And it’s the way she looks at me with my cock in her mouth that makes my balls pull up, the come inside them burning me from the inside out.
I don’t know how I keep it together with her tongue swiping under my crown, her soft lips pulling at my flesh, her hair hanging wildly around her face in messy tufts.
She’ll still look like a woman who’s been freshly fucked for sure, regardless of whether I throw my load down her throat.
A couple minutes in, and my throat becomes sandpaper.
My hands dig at the blanket, the ground.
I’m shaking with a low murmur trapped in my throat as she finds her rhythm, her little hand caressing my balls as she sucks.
“Eliza, goddammit,” I rumble, fisting her hair. “No.”
I jerk her head back just when I’m on the brink.
Her wet pussy won’t leave my head, and I’m ravenous to fill her up, as much as a sinister part of me also wants to leave ropes hanging off her face.
She looks at me, eyes asking if she’s done something wrong.
I reassure her with a deep, growling kiss before I flip her over, making my intentions clear.
I push my boxers down—remembering to rummage around in my pocket for a condom at the last second.
Fuck.
I’m so far gone I almost pushed inside her raw, and if I had, I would have spilled every drop of come in her womb.
It’s like she knows it too. She moans as I roll the rubber on and bury myself inside her, ass up and pussy tight and ready.
Fuck the moon and stars and sea breezes and torch light. This might be the most romantic place on Earth, but for us, it’s debauchery central.
I can’t bring myself to fuck her slow, knowing I won’t last long.
I drive in, making her lush ass ripple with every impact, loving how she meets every punishing thrust.
We move together.
Melt together.
Rut together.
We cling to each other as we fight for breath, her little hands falling into mine as she reaches over her head.
I hold her tight as I drive into her, our breath drumming into the night as the pleasure intensifies.
Soon, she butchers my name with a shriek that announces her orgasm.
Ecstasy picks me up and slams me back into myself as her pussy tightens around my cock, throbbing and squeezing, sucking me off.
My spine goes electric.
White-hot fire hits my brain, and then I’m just one long growl, spilling myself inside her, both of us seeing stars that belong to something far darker than the night.
We don’t even speak when we’re sane enough to stand again.
I just wrap her in the blanket and fix my clothes, carrying her to my room.
There, we pick up right where we left off.
We don’t even stop for dinner, barely breaking for water to replenish the sweat soaked into the sheets. I’ve fucked her three times—every which way from Sunday—before I take the notion to pull her into a cool, crisp shower and call in a late-night food order to the kitchen.
I never showered with Aster. She was so private, always pushing me away when I offered.
With Eliza, it feels too natural, the way we take turns washing each other off between kissing and wandering hands. And when we’re finally clean, we have to get dirty again, my hands guiding hers to the wall and my lips against her ear.
“Destiny lied. There’s no badger in you. You’re all fucking honey,” I snarl. “You, Eliza, are becoming my fucking addiction.”
She replies with a loud moan, and I show her just how dependent I am, pounding her into the wall.
I wish we could spend an entire week like this, locked in the room naked. One long conversation spoken in shrill whimpers and guttural groans.
But she leaves around sunup, before there’s a chance to truly discuss anything.
This pattern continues for a few more days—carefully avoiding her during work hours so I don’t have to talk about exactly what the hell it is we’re doing at night.
I’m worried my addiction might be literal. It hurts to go twenty-four hours without her.
Then one morning, I wake up to the hot sun pouring through the window, painting Eliza in a warm glow. She’s still nestled in the covers with my arms around her.
She stayed.
More than that, I realize how much jealousy pulses through my blood, how I don’t want her to be anywhere else.
I pull her closer, cradle her to my chest, and plant a kiss on her head.
This is the most taboo kind of ecstasy.
Not just because she’s an employee.
My wife—the only other woman I’ve ever shared this bed with—died within walking distance of here.
Having another woman here should be the worst kind of mind fuck.