Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“How wet are you?”
Her wide eyes finally find mine, even though she seems reluctant to pull her eyes from my throbbing cock now that I’ve tossed my slacks away.
“Soaked,” she says, no timidness in her tone. She has the same confidence she had downstairs at the bar.
“Show me.”
I expect her to slide her panties to the side, maybe dip her fingers against her little pink slit, but no, that’s what one of those coy women would do. Ginger is far from coy. Ginger shocks the shit out of me—the man who thought he has seen everything—by walking across the room, then climbing on the bed and getting on all fours. She spreads her legs, then she pulls her panties to the side. While looking over her shoulder, the little minx then spreads herself for me and fuck if she wasn’t lying. I have the perfect view, visual proof that she’s slick and ready, no preparation needed for my cock.
My cock leaks at the sight, my mouth watering for a taste for the first time in a very long time. Eating pussy isn’t my thing. It never really has been. Oral—giving not receiving—isn’t something I do very often, and that’s a safety thing, not a selfish thing. STDs and STIs are serious shit and living the life I live isn’t something I want to risk.
But Ginger is looking like someone I could snack on. I mean, I’m not going to risk it because seriously, no one is worth the risk, but that’s one delectable looking pussy.
“Play with it,” I tell her. She wanted bossy, and fuck if I don’t need to see it myself. “No, baby, two fingers, not just one. You need more than just one. It’s a greedy little thing, isn’t it? There you go.”
I bite my bottom lip, hand stroking my cock, begging it for patience as I enjoy the show.
“John,” she moans, two fingers dipping in as deep as her position will allow.
“That’s it, Ginger. Can you get three in there?” I grab my slacks and pull a rubber from my wallet. “You’ve touched my cock. You know you’re going to have to open up a little more for me than that.”
She moans again, her fingers shifting, her pussy working tirelessly to accommodate one more.
“That’s it,” I praise as I crawl up the bed, knee-walking until I’m inches away from her.
Unable to resist, I bend down and bite her ass, my finger playing with the ones she has inside of her.
“Can you take one more?” I press one finger in between hers slowly, groaning when she pushes back against my hand. She does like a little pain with her pleasure, I realize when I stuff her full. “Move up. Forearms on the wall above the headboard.”
I know from experience the painting above the wall is anchored so it won’t move, and Ginger doesn’t even hesitate to obey. On her knees, she presses her arms to the picture.
“Legs wide. Sit back.”
I guide her with one hand, but keep the touch light, my fingers toying with the lace still clinging to her hip. My cock slides between her damp thighs, finding purchase right where our fingers were moments ago. We both groan in pleasure, her head rolling forward and smacking the painting.
She chuckles, but I can’t have her hurting herself, so I grip a handful of her hair and angle her head back, resting it on my shoulder. She mentioned liking a little aggression, and this is part of that. I anticipate her telling me to stop if she grows uncomfortable, but her low groan tells me that she likes what I’m doing.
“Work my cock,” I growl.
She bounces, her trim thighs just muscular enough to carry her the length of me. Up and down, back and forth. It’s my turn to lose focus, my head rolling on my shoulders, chin resting on her shoulder as I watch her tits bounce. Fuck, she feels good, almost too good. The perfect amount of heat and pressure, the grip of her enough to make me lose my damn mind. I knew it was going to be amazing just from the glint in her eyes at the bar, but fuck, I never imagined this.
The scent of her skin combined with the damn arousal surrounding both of us is more intoxicating than the whiskey I drank earlier.
I’m drunk on the combination of it. My mind is muddled, overstimulated with everything, unable to focus on any one thing.
“That’s it, faster.”
My grip on her tightens, fingers twisting the fabric of her thong until I lose circulation in the tips. I move my hips, counterthrusting, meeting her halfway, the slapping of our bodies echoing through the room, the symphony of our fucking the perfect soundtrack for the night.
“My clit,” she wheezes. “Pinch it.”
Not play with it. Pinch.
Fuck. Pure. Fucking. Perfection.