Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Her gorgeously curvy body, full and tempting in the silky dress cut just above the knee, giving me a glimpse of her thick juicy thighs, driving me even closer to the edge.
I bite down, closing my eyes tighter, not caring if I must look strange to the other guests. Hopefully, they will think I’m seasick. Whatever the case, it’s easier this way.
If I study the island, I’ll end up trying to guess which part of it Brooke’s on. I’ll imagine running through the sand, looping my arm around her hips, and then doing what I wanted to do at the party….
Stare down into her wide, enthralling eyes, smooth some of her light brown hair from her face, lean in close and kiss her so hard she’ll be able to feel how badly I want her, need her.
She’ll know I don’t just want a fling. She’ll know I’ve been thinking about her all year, my waking working hours and while asleep, dreams and daydreams all in the shape of my woman.
My woman, because that’s what she is…to some part of me.
The savage part. The part I never felt before I almost kissed Brooke.
It would’ve been the worst mistake of my life, I try to remind myself, but it doesn’t feel true. Not even close.
It feels almost painful. Trying to convince myself kissing her would’ve been a bad thing.
Thinking of Gil, I attempt to push those thoughts away as I open my eyes and adjust to the sunlight.
I was right before as my gaze moves over the island.
I find myself wondering if she’s one of the figures I can dimly make out on the beach or if she’s in one of the huts attached to the small piers.
I think of her in her bedroom alone, and then I walk in.
In my fantasy, I stride across the room and take her shoulders, lifting her up as I bring my lips to hers. And then she’ll whimper through the kiss as I gently lower her to the bed, driving my manhood against her, letting her feel my hunger through the fabric of our clothes.
Getting rid of the fantasy is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. Even when I manage to somewhat focus on the scenery instead, I still can’t let the thought go.
I don’t just think of the sex, of taking her physically.
I think about afterward, with her lying in my arms, a soft smile on her perfect lips. Then, stroking my hand through her hair over and over, I’d whisper about the future, how badly I want her curvy body to hold my children one day, and what a great mother she would be.
Kids have never been one of my goals. I’ve wanted them on some level but never met the right person. I was starting to think she didn’t exist until I saw Brooke again.
Forever, Brooke, I’d say, kissing her cheek, tasting her sweat, a result of our frantic lovemaking. Just me and you….
But that’s the thing. It’s not just us.
It’s Gil. It’s his life.
It’s unquestionably wrong what I’m thinking about doing.
Right now, the story is that I had one too many beers and acted a little strange with Brooke.
Nobody knows I’ve relived that moment thousands of times since it happened, several times a day, my hand stroking my rock-solid manhood when the fantasies spiral.
I’ve taken her so many ways in my mind—slow and affectionate, primal and urgent, and everything in between. I’ve kissed her as she reached her crescendo, tasted her orgasm, her breath all over my cheeks.
Clenching my fists, I warn myself to stop.
I’ve somehow managed not to indulge for a week, the longest I’ve gone since we nearly kissed. I never pleasured myself much before, but it’s like I have to with Brooke. It’s like, if I don’t, my balls will swell and swell with seed until I go insane.
Or maybe I’m already insane. Crazy for her.
Is that a form of madness?
“Banner.” Gil beams as he strides across the sand, looking so happy I want to punch myself in the face. “How was the trip?”
We hug briefly, as we always do when I return from my travels.
I try for a smirk, hating this new feeling that hits me, as though I’m playing the part of the best friend. It’s never been like that before, not with me and Gil. I can’t remember a time when I’ve had to force anything with him.
But it’s his wedding. I’m his best man. I can’t ruin this.
“All good,” I tell him. “How are you feeling?”
He looks around the island, smiling and waving at a couple of other guests, and then turns to me. “Happy. And grateful. I want you to know that.”
I shake my head firmly. “You two deserve to be happy. You don’t have to keep thanking me, Gil. I mean that. You’re my friend.”