Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Chapter 14
If my dog could talk, I’d have no reason to talk to people.
-Hancock’s secret thoughts
Sway
“You’re about to get bent over again.” Hancock’s rumbly voice broke into my perusal.
I blinked, looking up at him as innocently as I could which caused him to laugh.
“I saw you,” he informed me. “And in about ten minutes, I’ll be more than up for whatever you’re willing to do to me.”
“Me do to you?” I asked in alarm, tugging the towel around my breasts.
He wouldn’t want me to be on top, would he? Because that would definitely not be cool.
The one and only time I was ever on top was, of course, with Langston.
After he complained about my ass pushing his legs uncomfortably into the bed, I’d climbed off, refusing to get on top again.
Then Langston had to go and mention how my breasts jiggled and my belly squished together.
Normally—if I was standing—my belly tended to be fairly flat. But bending over causes almost everyone to have belly rolls, and I wasn’t an exception.
It was apparently a big turn off for Langston because he never tried to have sex with me in that position again.
Then again, the position itself hadn’t felt all that good, so there was really nothing to complain about. Langston’s cock had been about five inches, fully erect, and even with me on top, I couldn’t feel him like I was thinking I should be able to.
Hancock, though…well, let’s just say he would probably rip me a new one if I was on top. But the sheer size of his cock was likely going to make that position difficult.
“What are you thinking about?” Hancock questioned as I followed him out of the bathroom, my mind still swirling with the possibility that he wanted to ask me to be on top.
He walked straight over to the large bed dominating the big, open room and started to push pillows off.
Thankful for the change in subject he’d inadvertently offered me, I pounced on it.
“What are you doing?” I asked as I watched him tug the comforter down on the bed.
It landed on the floor in a large heap, and I frowned.
“I read online that hotels don’t wash their comforters, and ever since then I’ve yanked them off and only slept with the sheets.”
I blinked in surprise.
“Why would they not wash the comforter?” I grimaced, thinking about how revolting it would be if that were true. “That’s disgusting.”
He nodded his head and started to rip the corner of the sheet off the bed.
“It is,” he agreed as he bent over to peer at the mattress itself.
“Now what are you doing?” I pushed.
“Looking for a bed bug infestation,” he mentioned almost casually. “It looks good to me.”
“What?” I cried. “Bugs?”
His lips twitched.
“I wasn’t saying there would actually be any here, but it’s also something I always check for, just in case,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Another superstition?” I asked casually, walking to my suitcase and pulling it carefully out of the closet.
The moment I moved mine I saw his, and my mouth twitched.
I couldn’t figure out how I’d missed it.
It was bright freakin’ red.
But it was smaller than mine and it’d been directly behind mine, so that likely accounted for why it was overlooked.
Once I had it next to the counter, I dumped it over on its side and squatted down to open it.
The move made the towel ride up, exposing my pussy to the floor, but I ignored it, instead looking for a bra to contain my massive DDs.
I wish they had squats for boobs.
The moment I found my bra, I stood up and let the towel drop, completely unaware that I had an audience that was avidly watching my every move.
Once my bra—a prettier one than normal since I knew I’d be seeing Hancock this weekend—was hooked, I pulled the cups up over my breasts and then worked my hands into the straps and situated it.
Then resituated it since my breasts were so unruly.
Then again, this bra was notorious for pushing my cleavage up instead of actually of doing anything to contain it.
There was a rule about bras for bustier ladies. A bra couldn’t be pretty and be comfortable. That was just the cold, hard truth.
It sucked, but we ladies learned to live with it.
After deciding that the bra was just going to have to do since I hadn’t packed any more, I grabbed a black lace pair of underwear, bent slightly over the bed with my hand touching the top to steady myself, and lifted a leg.
And that’s when I heard the groan.
I froze and dropped my leg, turning slightly to where I’d heard the groan originate from, and blinked when I saw Hancock sitting on what looked to be a dressing chair directly behind me. He was staring at my ass like he wanted to devour it, and I made a grab for the towel.