Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I have no idea how long I had my head buried between her legs. How long have I been here? An hour? Two?
She’s still watching me, measuring me, licking a drop of Scotch from her bottom lip while she stares up at my face. Urgency fuels my steps as I walk to the kitchen and switch off the oven. When I return to the lounge, she’s still sitting where I left her.
I go over and lift her into my arms. Nothing is said as I carry her upstairs. Words are redundant. Language is insufficient. Our bodies are enough. Lust is all we need to communicate. It’s perfectly clear when I push the main bedroom door open with a shoulder.
She clings to me as I carry her to the bed, and the strange act touches something inside me. It makes me want to hold her and tell her she’s mine to protect, that I won’t let her go.
I lay her down on the side of the bed, releasing her only long enough to take off my clothes. Naked, I crawl over her, covering every inch of her skin with mine. Her warmth and smell melt into my senses, warming me in places that have always been cold. Something clicks in place when I intertwine our fingers and stretch her arms above her head. She opens her legs for me, letting me in. My cock knows the way. It slips home easily, finding her wet and hot and tight and too much.
Fuck.
I grit my teeth, biting back the pleasure that climbs too fast.
When I rock my hips, she follows my lead. I close my fingers, squeezing hers. Squeeze my eyes shut. Only for a moment. Because I want to look at her. I lower my head and taste her lips. Hungry for the depth of her mouth, I sweep my tongue over hers. The kiss is unhurried and tender, our lovemaking slow.
And fuck.
Because I’m going to shoot my load.
I kiss a path down her neck, finding her breast, savoring her nipple. My actions are languid even if the urgency in my body is a breakable thing, a thing about to explode.
Because I don’t want it to end.
Not before I take care of her pleasure.
Even as the intention enters my mind, my body gives out. I empty myself in her pussy, filling her up with my seed. Letting myself go and finding my pleasure inside her is so powerful that all thoughts except for one weakening need disappear.
Untangling our hands, I spear my fingers through her silky hair, cupping her face between my palms as I pump with a dry cock and grunt out, “Say it. Say my name.”
Laying her hand on my nape, she pulls me in for a kiss. “Stop talking, Mr. Russo, and make me come.”
That something that fitted so perfectly falls out of place. There’s something wrong with those words, with the formal way in which she addresses me, but I’m too caught up in the moment to examine the notion. I’m too scared to look too closely and find something that will shatter the peace. So I kiss her. Deeply. Deeper than I care to look. And I slip a hand between our bodies and use my cum to lubricate her clit before I rub that little button the way she likes, the way that makes her lock her thighs around my hips before her inner muscles clench on my cock.
I kiss her through her orgasm, lapping up her pleasure, owning her breaths and her firsts. Owning everything, but not her heart.
It’s a fucking bitter pill to swallow, and it tastes all the more acrid because of the sweetness of this moment.
It’s unfair to expect something of her that can never be. It’s downright dumb to want something I can never have. It’s wrong to think of love when I’m still kissing her. Because it fucks with my head.
Yet I don’t stop. I don’t tear my lips from hers, and I don’t stop thinking. That nasty little splinter has lodged into my brain, and it’s there to stay. To torment me. To fester like a thorn under the skin with a throbbing discomfort that won’t be ignored.
“Air,” she says, pushing on my shoulders.
I get off her, just enough to let her breathe. I must be crushing her beneath my weight. I got carried away.
She winces when I pull out.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, framing her cheek in my palm and drinking in her beautiful features.
“No.” She smiles. “It just burns a little.”
I kiss her forehead. “Stay, cara.”
She turns her face and follows my progress to the bathroom with her gaze. Her quiet acceptance both pleases and worries me. There’s something off about it. I can’t accuse her of being disobedient or unaccommodating. I only know it’s not right.
After wetting a washcloth with warm water, I return to the bed and wipe away the cum between her legs.