Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Her throat muscles instantly tense from the instruction.
“Gag.” Wet gargles begin reverberating around the luxurious office space, effortlessly hooding my gaze. “Choke.” There’s no stopping my grip from flexing. “Prove to me your mine.” Hips from rocking. “And only mine.”
Spit savagely spills past the edges of her spread mouth, sloppily dribbling down her chin, painting a messy trail along her elongated neck to the tops of her tits that are barely being contained in her airy blue, ruffled summer dress.
Seeing them bounce at the same speed that she bobs encourages me to thrust faster.
Slam harder.
Dive and dive and dive while watching them seductively sway, hypnotizing my cock to carve my signature into her throat.
Spill ink in her favorite shade.
Our favorite shade.
Light puffs litter themselves along the base of my shaft each time her nose brushes against it, calling to my balls to lift, to bathe in the heat along with the endless white-hot streams pouring onto them.
Every blistering breath expands my dick further.
Causes Bryn’s soaking wet muscles to reject the invasion.
Contract.
Cut off its ability to get any deeper, ultimately summoning me to demonstrate otherwise.
Possessive rumbles rattle my chest in tandem with my increasingly feral thrusts, determination to prove she can handle it…handle me…is meant for me…dominates my system pushing me to dominate hers.
To ferociously work my cock from base to tip again and again in her slick, strained confines until she’s no longer sucking so much as being mercilessly used to jerk me with her throat.
Between Bryn’s bawdy gags and the sac swelling vision of her favorite blue mascara creating undeniably beautiful blotches on her cheeks, I can barely hold back, but when she ribaldly rips the front of her dress downward, revealing the sight of a hardened, dark nipple, dying for my teeth, I’m done.
Completely.
Utterly.
Fucking.
Done.
One sharp breath somehow manages to precede my bellowing, “Fuckkkkkk!” Scorching spurts pitilessly pour down her throat as I repeatedly yank her forward to guarantee that she gorges on every single drop. “You’re mine, Little Prey.” My cock kicks harder when her bright blue, watery gaze lifts to lock onto my mismatched one. “All.” I needlessly buck for emphasis. “Fucking.” Another heave is delivered. “Mine.” The last thrust sends her shuddering frame backward, finally granting Bryn the reprieve she so desperately needs. “And now you’re gonna ride my face while you scream it.”
Despite my wife’s whimpering sound that’s accompanied by an entire body melt, she shakes her head in denial. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wilcox.” The tips of her fingers remove the droplets of cum from the corners of her mouth. “I’m going to have to respectfully decline.”
Confusion clashes into consternation. “Excuse me?”
“This was meant to be a Vulcan visit.” Her eyebrow waggling is attached to an impish smirk. “Nothing more than a little reminder that I’m head of the class.”
It’s impossible not to roll my eyes in an amused fashion.
I’d love to say my wife has come to make less Star Trek references over the past couple of years.
I’d even love to say she’s reached a point of better balancing them with her Batman ones.
However, I can’t.
And I honestly probably never well.
Not with the addition of Janae, J.T.’s wife, joining the fold.
She, too, is a die-hard “live long and prosper” club member as well as the reason I have to attend the Talk Trekky to Me convention next summer.
I approve of her changing my best friend’s life at the one he attended with Bryn the summer after Wy was born, but I do not approve of her masterminding a couples’ trip in which wearing a costume – outside of the bedroom – is a requirement rather than a recommendation.
I’ve actually come to enjoy a bit of role playing behind closed doors.
I may still have an aversion to wearing colors; however, there’s no denying I look damn good in that gold shirt and even better when she’s wearing that red mini dress, bouncing on my cock, calling me Captain.
“I just stopped by to guarantee my weekly cookie order for the office actually got delivered here rather than mysteriously disappearing like they belong to the fucking Terra Nova colony,” Bryn announces at the same time she rises back onto her white sandal covered feet where she swiftly readjusts her wardrobe. “Zaidee swears that Balok looking bitch in the main lobby keeps stealing them, which I totally believe considering the fact that once upon a time – when I was eight months pregnant waddling around here like a pregnant Great White on land might I add – she tried to steal you from me.”
“She did not,” firmly leaves my mouth as I return my lower half to its respectful display.
“She did too!”
“She was simply being polite.”
“Flirty.”
“Cordial.”
“Thirsty.”
A crooked grin is attached to my accusation. “You sound jealous, Ms. Kyle.”
“Of what, Mr. Wayne?” She flirts back, hands falling to her slightly wider hips. “I’m the only one who gets to see that ass out of its leather Spanx.”