Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
We got into a taxi and he put his hand across to squeeze at my knee, but he didn’t snake it up my thigh like I hoped he would. I gripped his knuckles to encourage him, but it didn’t make any difference. He smelt of beer over the top of his cologne, and his words were more bolshy and less dirty as the journey took us back to mine. More about slamming me hard than how adventurous he could make our encounter.
I encouraged him to find the heat. Holy shit, how I encouraged him to dig down deep for more.
He stumbled a little as we piled out of the taxi and I got my front door key out. He tried to grab me in the hallway but his hands were clumsy. His mouth was clumsier. Hot and wet and swishy.
My clit flutter was fading fast.
I led us through to my bedroom, past Vicky’s lightless doorframe, and got down on my knees as he dropped his pants, and then I sucked him. I sucked him like I wanted him to claim me whole. Like I wanted to love his dick. Like I wanted to taste every inch of him and have him taste every inch of me.
“Fuck,” he grunted. “Fuck, you’re fucking good at that. Too fucking good at that.”
And then he came.
He shot his load in my mouth after one lousy minute, and reeled back clutching his dripping cock.
“Shit,” he said. “I’ll get it up again, don’t worry. You were just too fucking good.”
Bullshit.
He barely even tried while we were waiting for round two. We got cosy on the bed and he rubbed my pussy but ignored every attempt from me to get the rhythm right. I ignored every urge to pretend I was coming just to get him the hell away from me and stop wasting my time.
I stared at him and knew he was hot, but yet again that was flatlining, fading to nothing and leaving my heart in the gutter, abandoning every scrap of optimism for the evening.
“Fuck, yes,” he said with a grunt, and showed me his stiffening dick. “Let’s get this show back on the road.”
Like it needed his dick to be hard to get the show rolling again. Selfish prick.
Still, I gave him another chance like the idiot I was sometimes, glass half full and all that crap. I let him take his fill, squirming away underneath to try to angle him at my g-spot, and letting my tongue find a rhythm with his. But it was shit. No matter how hard I tried, and encouraged, and pulled him closer and lifted my legs up his back, it was shit.
He’d done with round two in no time and ditched the condom, and I wiped his spit from my mouth, my clit hating my guts for believing in this fumbling loser and his promises.
Even Seb had given more of a shit for my pleasure.
“I’ll be more up to it in the morning,” he said, and buried himself down under my covers. “I had a bit too much beer. So damn excited it made me nervous. Your fault for being so hot.”
Sure it was. Yeah.
Even my glass half full mentality didn’t give me faith in this guy’s morning potential. I rolled over on my own side and stared at the wall, just like I had done so many nights of my life with Sebastian, and my thoughts were still going there. Heart, pussy and tummy still screaming out for the passion I’d felt from that couple in that club.
The passion I’d felt in anything.
I wanted that so badly.
I needed that so badly.
I was seriously fucking desperate for that. Just one night. Just one taste of who I was.
The light was streaming through the front window next morning, and I was still awake when he stretched out his arms and headed back over for another go. I shied away, and told him I had stuff on I needed to get to, and he shrugged before slipping out of bed and pulling his jeans on.
“Some other time then,” he said. “That was really damn hot last night.”
I didn’t have any words, just a weak little smile as he smoothed down his hair and said he’d ping me later. Sure thing, can’t wait.
Super-hot Trojan was a big buzzing fly in my optimism ointment. A let down that had me collapsing like a starfish flat under my bedcovers as soon as the front door slammed shut after him.
Fuck you, Trojan. Fuck you.
I was tired and scuttling towards a day of potential seizures. Tired and zany and still reeling. Tired and zany and desperate when I scrolled through my phone to the very depths and found his number. The man who’d burned me up harder than diving straight into Hell.
I had no idea if it was even still his number as I wrote out the text message at eight a.m. on a Sunday morning and fired it off.