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)
Her breaths escape through her nose, uneven gusts on my cheek as I angle my face just a little more, the swipe of my tongue tasting the tequila on hers. It’s a reminder of what tomorrow brings, but I can’t focus on that right now. Nothing can ruin this moment.
Those fingernails, the ones that left the still healing marks on my back a week ago, dig into me again and my nuts draw up. I groan into her mouth, and she smiles, her lips curling against mine.
“You’re the fucking devil,” I whisper. “Harder.”
Ten fingers curl into my skin, her mouth hanging open, eyes rolling back when I shove into her harder, my hips snapping forward.
“Your clit,” I hiss.
She shakes her head, her dark hair a mess on the stark white sheets. God, I love mussing her up.
“I’m going to come, Leighton. If you don’t—”
“Me, too,” she pants. “Oh, God. Me, too.”
I fuck her harder, pulling my arm out from around her shoulder. Pressing both fists into the mattress, needing to see our connection, I sit back on my calves and draw her body higher up on my thighs. I don’t know if changing her position will ruin what she was building, but I’m a greedy bastard right now, and this gives her access to her swollen clit.
Her back arches as I slam into her, eyes closed, mouth hanging open, sounds I’ve never heard rumbling out of her each and every time I press into her. God, the way she grips me. If I thought it felt good… seeing it is on a whole other level. Her pussy, the greedy thing that it is, slides along my length as if it’s desperate to not let go, slick and smooth.
Heaven. This is absolute heaven.
My balls tighten, detonation imminent when I press my thumb to her clit, and that’s all it takes.
Her core locks down on me. There’s no pulsing, no rhythmic clutch. It’s a fucking vice grip. It’s crushing, a clamp.
I freeze, my body getting with the program faster than my brain. Her mouth hangs open on a silent scream, and I’m pretty sure I do the exact same thing. It’s like the black hole of orgasms. One second, we’re close and there’s all this activity, then we tip over, cross the event horizon and then nothing exists.
I crash down beside her, balls empty, eyes filled with wonder, body unable to move or function. I blink at her. She blinks at me, and all I can do is pull her close, kiss her forehead, and close my eyes.
I’ve never felt better in my entire life.
Chapter 18
Leighton
There are a few things I learned in my twenties.
Heavy drinking during the week is never a good idea.
Tequila is never a good idea.
Sex with incredibly charming men will most often always be extremely good. They’ve sort of earned that charm from somewhere, right?
Those three theories still hold as true this morning as they did many years ago. Usually, only two of those lead to regret.
I’m zero for three this morning.
I hiss, sore as I climb out of bed, more parts of my body aching than I’m willing to admit. I use the bathroom, only turning on the light so I can try to determine what sort of mess I’m going to be forced to deal with this morning. I can hide the bags under my eyes with a little concealer, but the tequila still swimming in my gut may be a problem with the hour-long drive to San Jose. I doubt the driver is going to be impressed if he has to pull over if I need to vomit.
I lean in close to the mirror, my palms flat on the countertop. My makeup is streaked down my face, a small smile playing on my lips at the memories of last night until the overhead lights reflect off the ring sitting on the counter. The gold band is a little innocuous thing, a harmless band if it weren’t for its symbolism.
My stomach rolls, and swallowing doesn’t help. Regret washes over me, and I barely make it to the toilet before getting sick. Anguish mixed with bad choices from last night burn my throat as I heave, my eyes stinging with tears I have no hope of holding back, my sobs causing even more pain and grief.
I never forgot that he was married. I glanced down at that ringless hand of his with each shot I tilted up to my painted lips, but with each swallow, I cared less and less, telling myself that if he didn’t care, neither did I. I have no claim to the humiliation I feel in this moment, and my awareness of it deepens the betrayal.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as I stand, flipping the light off, unable to look at myself any longer before rinsing my mouth with cold water.