Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It won’t be,” I said, shrugging. “Renovating is a fucking nightmare,” I said, waving a hand around the warehouse, saying I knew from experience. “And there’s jackshit I can do to make that part easier. But the money? The money is easy.”
She was silent for a moment, then flipped through more of her notebook pages.
“So what you’re saying is that this five-year plan to replace the money that I spent weeks working on was—“
“A complete fucking waste of time?” I asked. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“Do you have any idea how much I hate math?” she asked, shooting me small eyes.
“Yeah, could have saved yourself all that shit,” I said, nodding as she tossed her notebook onto the nightstand with a grumble.
“If you knew what I was up to, why didn’t you just say something and save me from all of the damn calculations?”
“I think you needed to figure out that you can just come to me with shit,” I told her. “Now you know that. Besides, brushing up on the math skills will probably come in handy when you get the business going.”
“I still have a lot of training to go through myself before I can open.”
“Or you hire people who have done all the training. Kind of the point of owning a business, to free up some personal time, delegate the work.”
“True,” she said, nodding. “Figuring that out is going to require more math, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” I agreed, reaching for her hips, pulling her up toward me. “I got a little math practice for you too,” I told her as my hands grabbed her shirt, and dragged it up over her head.
“Oh, yeah? What kind of math?”
“How many times I can make you come before Detroit calls us down to dinner,” I said, smirking as her own smile went wicked.
“That might be the only kind of math I like,” she told me as I rolled her onto her back so I could yank off her pants and panties.
Her hand was going to my pants, reaching in to pull out my cock, already hard and straining, and stroking me for a second before taking me into her mouth.
“Fuck,” I hissed, letting my head fall back for a bit, lost in the moment. My hand moved out, teasing with her clit until she was moaning around my cock before releasing me, then shoving me onto my back so she could climb on top of me, her gaze on mine as she took me in.
And, fuck, it never got old.
Years.
I’d only been fucking her for years.
But I still felt like I couldn’t get enough.
“Get this fucking straitjacket off,” I grumbled after fumbling with her sports bra for what felt like ages as she started to move.
What can I say? I wanted to see her tits bouncing as she rode me. I was a man of simple tastes.
To that, she laughed, reaching up to undo velcro at each of her shoulders, then unwrapping the straps from under her tits before pulling down the zipper between her boobs.
“The fuck?” I asked, shaking my head as she tossed it to the side.
“Listen, when you want to do high-impact exercises, and you have big boobs, you need to strap those bad boys down, or you risk a black eye,” she told me.
“Let’s test that theory out,” I said, hooking an arm around her waist, then flipping her onto her back on the mattress while I sat back on my shins.
Yanking her legs up in the air, I surged back inside of her, watching her tits bounce, almost knocking her in her chin.
It was one hell of a fucking view.
But then my hands and lips and tongue were roaming, dragging out shivers and moans and begs for more.
I slammed inside of her.
Hard.
Deep.
Watching all that jiggling again as I fucked her, as I drove her up and through one orgasm, then another, before slamming deep and coming myself.
“Join me in the shower?” she said after, pressing a kiss to my jaw that was resting near her face as I tried to find the strength to move off of her.
“Yeah,” I said, sliding out of her, then off the bed. “I’ll meet you in there,” I said, watching her get up and do the come-waddle into the bathroom, liking the image more than I probably should have.
Alone, I fished the ring out of the closet, curling it into my palm, then following her into the bathroom.
I wasn’t a grand romantic gesture kind of guy.
I was more of a “when it feels right, it’s right” kind of guy.
And after she shared with me her plans for the rest of her, and therefore our lives, yeah, it was right.
So I offered her the ring.
And she took it.
And fucking nothing had ever felt quite as right.
Nyx - 1.5 years