Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“Babe, up,” I mutter against her lips, taking a breath before diving back into our kiss. Her leg hikes over my hip, opening herself up further. Josie grinds her slit against my cock while my thumb drags along the underside of her tit, and that’s all it fucking takes. All her beauty comes apart, and it’s with my mouth, my cock, and my damn hands consuming the both of us.
15
JOSIE
“I swear every time I’m around you, I lose my head.” Trace is still holding my body up, legs lewdly splayed open, our centers pressed against one another, and his thumb is still rasping over my taut nipple. A shiver rolls through my body. He has no problem taking advantage of it either, rolling his hips, letting me feel his thickness. Realization hits me that this is the second time we’ve been together, and he’s yet to get off.
“If it turns that pretty brain of yours off, you won’t see me complaining.” I watch as he looks down the length of my body, eyes, mouth, chest, and of course where we’re currently fused together. Trace’s big hand slides away from my breast. A mewl of protest leaves my lips, and he takes advantage of the need swirling inside once again.
“Fuck, if I don’t stop, we won’t.” He nips at my lower lip, pulling on it one last time while squeezing my hip. His calloused thumb still glides along my abdomen when he steps back while making sure I’m steady as my legs unwrap from around his muscled waist.
“Yeah.” I stumble over what else to say. The last time Trace took over my body, running away was the only thing to do. Now, that isn’t an option. Especially because I don’t want him to. Nope, I want the one thing I shouldn’t have: Trace Gaines. A man who is twice my age, my ex-boyfriend’s father, his presence and the orgasms definitely are a plus.
“You good?” he asks. My feet are on the ground, and we’re chest to chest. Trace seems unable to move away from me, the intoxication for one another clearly running deep.
“I think so. Are you?” His hair is more ruffled, my fingers finally delving into the dark chocolate locks, lips wet from our kiss, his cock still rock solid, and the urge to attack his jeans is simmering below the surface. There’s a craving inside of me to feel his dick in the palm of my hand, feeling his smooth skin. Where I fall to my knees, mouth wrapping around what I’m sure is a thick mushroom-shaped head, long length. And God, how I hope he wraps one of his calloused hands along my neck, his thumb sliding along my throat, the other on my head as he shows me exactly what he likes when I fuck him with my mouth.
“Yeah, babe, I fucking am.” He steps back, this time taking his body and hands away from me. I watch as he bends down to pick up the hat I knocked off his head when he had his way with me, not that I was putting up a fight. No freaking way. I’ve dreamt about what it would feel like to be here again, and the lucky girl I am is getting the chance. “Come on, show me which step needs to be replaced, then we’ll figure out what style cabinets you want, and then we’ll grab a bite to eat.”
“Okay, but Trace, I didn’t hire you for the steps. It can wait, or I’ll have my dad help me out.” Maybe I’ll even do them myself, along with the other millions of never-ending items on my mental checklist of sorts. Tomorrow, I’ll take a trip to the hardware store, get what I need for the yard, the steps, and more paint. I may as well get it done while my house is in disarray anyways.
“Josie, I’m here. The least I can do is take a look at it, see what it needs, and go from there.” His tone of voice is brisk, leaving no room for further discussion. I shrug my shoulders, head back to the counter, and pick up my drink, taking a healthy sip of the my lemon flavored seltzer water. Call me weird, but there is nothing better than soda from a can, or a fountain drink. Bottles just never have the same crisp effect in the after taste department.
“Fine, add it to my bill,” I tell Trace. He stops in his tracks, no longer heading to the front door, and turns around, body locked tight, jaw clenched. He does not look happy.
“Not happening. Finally got you back. Call it fate, kismet, whatever the fuck young people call it these days. There’s a reason you landed back in Blue Valley, I’m not going to have you falling and breaking your damn neck when I can do something about it.” Well, when he puts it that way, it’s kind of sweet in a butterflies-hitting-your-stomach, possessive kind of way.