Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
I kissed Jenny Pedersen in sixth grade because my friends said I should, not because I had that much interest in girls at the time. I screwed Erika Taylor in the back of her parents’ Chevy Malibu when I was fifteen because Abe told me I needed to be a man. In hindsight, I think he was referencing taking out the trash and helping my mom around the house.
I’d never had an actual girlfriend. It was hard to focus on honing my knife and gun skills and girls. The internet provided all I needed to get off before falling asleep each night.
By the time I started college, I had no interest in or time for dating. When the situation presented itself, I found a meaningless one-night stand to scratch the occasional itch.
“Why the look?” she whispered, leaning toward me as the professor started to speak.
I shook my head slowly, not realizing that I’d been staring at her. “Nothing.” I blinked a few times, trying to focus.
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
My attention drifted from her eyes to her lips, down her neck and chest to her perky little breasts pressed to her tight tee.
“It’s time to go.”
Her eyes widened, lips parted. “Uh … it is?”
I grabbed her laptop and shoved it in her bag. Standing, I flipped my backpack over my shoulder. With one hand, I took her bag; with my other, I took her hand and dragged her out of the auditorium.
“Wylder …” She nearly tripped as I led her down the hallway to a string of offices. “Out,” I said to the grad TA perched at his tiny desk.
“What are you—”
“How’s the oxygen, Stu?”
He scooted back in his chair. “Good. W-why?”
“Get the fuck out. You can come back in thirty minutes.” I only needed ten, but I didn’t want to make Livy too nervous about his eminent return.
“O-okay.” He grabbed his bag as I gave him a gentle shove out the door.
Jericho parked himself by the door as soon as I shut it and locked it.
“Wylder—”
I turned and crashed my mouth to hers, holding her face in my hands to reach as deep as my tongue would go. Her butt hit the metal-legged desk, her hands grabbing my arms to steady herself.
My mouth ripped from hers, and I devoured her neck, working my lips to her ear. “I need this so fucking bad.”
She didn’t question me. Her hands pulled my shirt up my torso. Mine pawed at her bra, yanking it down in the front to release her breasts.
“Ahhh!” Her head fell back as I pinched her nipple, possibly too hard.
I lifted her onto the desk, guiding her to lie back, pushing the computer monitor dangerously close to the edge, the keyboard crashing to the floor. Shoving her shirt up her chest, I sucked her breasts—biting and tugging her nipples as she arched her back off the desk.
“Wylder …” She threaded her fingers into my hair, commanding me to move down her stomach.
I glanced up as my tongue dipped into her pierced navel. Her drunk eyes and parted lips fed my own intoxication. I unbuttoned her shorts and slid them down her legs with her panties. Staring at her spread before me like an offering from a god I felt certain didn’t exist, I made quick moves to release my aching cock from the confines of my jeans.
The heels of her white canvas shoes planted on the edge of the desk as I pressed my hands to her knees, opening them and dipping my head to taste her.
“Wyyylllderrr …” she shrieked my name for eternity, her pelvis jerking off the desk, chasing my tongue.
While I wanted to feel her come undone against my mouth, I needed to be inside of her.
A long “yesss” escaped her soft lips as I pushed in as far as I could fit, pausing for a brief moment until she opened her eyes. Then I moved.
Fast.
Hard.
Desperate.
I didn’t know what it was … the dumb-ass guys checking her out in the classroom, the fit of her tee, the memories of my lifeless childhood, or that she knew my secret—and she stayed.
She. Fucking. Stayed.
All I knew was I couldn’t get close enough.
I couldn’t kiss her hard enough.
I couldn’t make it last long enough.
Livy was the one part of my life I couldn’t control. She disarmed the man who needed to feel the cold trigger at his finger to feel normal.
“Kiss … me … Wylder …” She grabbed my face, pulling me from her breast to her lips as I pistoled into her over and over, her legs around my waist, ankles locked together. “St-st-stop … stop …”
“Liv …” I pleaded, unable to imagine why she’d want me to stop something that felt unstoppable.
“Stop!” she said firmly. Not with anger, just very insistently.
I stopped. Panting. Confused. Worried.
She pressed her hands to my cheeks as our minty breaths mingled an inch apart. “Feel it?”