Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
‘Call it an educated guess,’ he says, rubbing my bottom again.
‘You’re hard.’ My assertion comes out low and sultry. ‘Let me help.’
Mac seems to ponder my offer, at least for a moment, brushing the hair from my face and twisting it over one of my shoulders. ‘And how would you do that? How would you help me get off?’
I blink back at him, wondering how I can make the usual way sound sexy at all.
‘Come on,’ he cajoles. ‘Gimme the details. Would you make me come in your mouth? Cover your tits with strings of my cum?’
‘Y-yes. That.’ I want. ‘All of that.’
‘Too bad you don’t deserve my cock right now.’
My whole body jolts as he slaps me again. And I doubt I’ll ever understand how this particular slap changes the tone.
Sharp taps and strident stings rein down between petting and strokes; the sounds I make someplace between torture and delight. My bottom smarts, but each time he slaps me, my pussy rubs against his thigh. But it’s not enough to get me off. Not quite. I curl my hands under my chin desperate to touch myself with no means to reach.
‘Please, Mac, please.’ I beg, cajole—I think I might promise to swallow him whole—as the embarrassing result of the experience begins to coat the inside of my thighs. And he knows it. Feels it. Between his petting and his sharp slaps, he murmurs his pleasure at the sight.
Moments later, he rips my pyjama pants down the rest of my legs, and at this moment, I’m overcome with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. And supreme need.
He slides me off his lap until I’m on my knees in front of him as he begins pulling my top over my chest, the buttons of his jeans loose and—be still my aching heart—the head of his hardness peeking out. As he concentrates on pulling me out of the remainder of my pyjamas, I take the opportunity to work him free and feed him to the back of my throat.
‘Jesus wept!’ He’s all gasps and hot breath—and all wicked smiles as he realises my intentions, the muscles of his abdominals arching and flexing as he leans back. ‘You really are a bad girl.’
‘And you love it,’ I say, popping my mouth from his smooth head. On my knees looking up at him, it’s hard for me to resist the sight. Tanned and taut, I long to run my tongue over every muscle. For now, I’m satisfied by trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses over his silken length, watching the agony and ecstasy playing across his face. His dark eyes are languid with arousal as he watches me.
‘Fuck, yes. Like that.’ Leaned back against the sofa, Mac releases a pained groan as I take my mouth almost to the base of him again. He wraps my hair in his hand, this time tenderly moving the strands to watch me work him. I’m all wet lips and messy tongue, sliding him between my lips again and again.
‘You’re so fuckin’ sexy,’ he groans, his accent taking on a hard edge. His hips lift from the sofa as though he has a chance in hell of running this show. ‘Touch yourself, Ella. I want to see you make yourself come.’
So I can accede power when he puts it like that . . . I slip a hand between my legs as I’m bid, humming my pleasure as my fingers brush my clit.
‘Yes,’ he hisses, his eyes watching avidly. ‘That’s it. Spread your legs wider. Let me see.’ I begin to work us in tandem—faster, harder—pushing my mouth down over his smooth hardness while rubbing myself. Licking and lapping and swirling, increasing my rhythm until my climax hits me unexpectedly, like a burst of white-hot electricity.
I cry out around his length as Mac pushes me back. My fingers still in my pussy, I ride out the aftershocks of my orgasm, my movements erratic as I watch him—his eyes fixed to where I touch myself—as he takes himself in hand. The tightness of his fist, the flex in his arm as he works himself, the remains of my saliva and pre-cum his lubrication.
‘Fuck.’ Why does this feel more like an announcement than a curse? ‘Fuck, I’m so fucking coming! Don’t move your hand. Jesus Christ, you fucking slay me. You’re so sexy, and I’m so fucked.’
His hips flex as he spews this stream of dirty consciousness, pushing himself closer and simultaneously sliding one hand round the back of my head.
I open my mouth without direction, and without a word spoken between us, he balances the head of his cock onto my bottom lip. I almost come again as he pumps torrent of thick cum into my mouth.
17
Ella
I’m in the kitchen the next morning when Mac resurfaces. I’d like to say our evening ended in snuggles and warmth, but it hadn’t happened that way. Post orgasm, he’d leaned back against the sofa, his hand still tangled in my hair. His chest had risen and fell as though he’d just run a four-minute mile. It had been awkward. Especially as, my head on his thigh, my knees began to hurt. As I tried to sit up, we’d had to work in tandem to untangle his fingers from the knots. It might’ve gone the cute hey-so-sex-can-be-a-little-awkward-and-weird-but-so-worth-it way. You know, like one of those mildly embarrassing things that can happen as a result of sex. Weird noises, bumping noses, and stuff. So I read in Buzzfeed.