Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
As I stroke my clit with more passion, my mind opens up. I’ve spent so long locking it down. It’s not like I ever wanted any guys at school or the jerks and douches around the neighborhood. They weren’t interested, and that was fine by me. I never spent time imagining what it would be like.
But with Sam, vivid hunger comes from nowhere. I imagine steamy specifics, like the pressure of his body against me, the skin-on-skin sensation of my legs wrapped around him. I whimper as my clit gives a hot pulse, like a reward for trying to delve deeper into the fantasy.
What would I want him to say to me… if he could say anything?
I slip my hand lower, shocked at how wet I am when I stroke my fingers across my core. I’m soaked. Suddenly, he’s in my head—a voice I don’t even know that comes from hunger, speculation, and nothing else.
“I love how wet you are for me. I love how eager you are to take my dick. Don’t worry. I know you need me to be gentle with your pussy. I know you need me to give you time, but when you’re ready, I’m fucking you hard. I’m fucking you passionately. I’m fucking you so I can make you pregnant.”
Oh, hell. The last part makes me ache so much. Suddenly, I imagine being on top of him, almost certain I can feel his huge dick gliding into me and burying deep inside.
His huge dick? How do I know that, exactly? Do I even want that? What if I can’t take him?
I place my fingers on my clit again, rubbing with pressure, like when the release comes, it’s going to throw us into the future I want so, so badly. In the impossible make-believe world, I’m riding him now, my hands propped on his shoulders as I take every inch of his cock and then slide back down, over and over.
“This isn’t how you finish,” he growls, suddenly flipping me over so he’s on top. He pushes his hard body against me again, leans back, and stares at me so I can see the complete captivation in his eyes. He’s got a look like, finally, the world is telling me I matter. I’m not just some easily ignored, forgotten, quiet girl slinking through life. With my man on top of me, claiming me hard, I deserve respect. I deserve happiness.
I almost scream as the tingling bursts deep inside me, promising my release will hit me soon. I almost don’t want it to. The closer I get, the more vivid the fantasy becomes. My man is on top, thrusting faster, teeth gritted like he can’t hold himself back for much longer, and I’m exactly the same.
I’d move up and down eagerly in time with him, both gasping, groaning, so close. I bite down as my core starts to really ache. My clit gets so damn hot. Everything is scorching as I ride the orgasm. I stare through blurry eyes at my man, my Sam, with that slight tug at the corner of his lips, like he’s saying, Yeah, come for me, just for me. Only for him… I never knew I could want, and now I know I want nobody else.
My hips shudder, my body trembling. Everything is achy and hot. I swipe from his photo and go to the texts, wondering if it’s too late to contact him. It’s past midnight. It’s almost one. What’s he doing? Is he with his girlfriend?
A torrent of unfair jealousy snaps into me. When I picture Sam—if that’s even his real name—with another woman, I almost lose it. I almost trash my bedroom. It’s like how I used to trash my room as a kid sometimes when taking care of Mom became too much, and the snide comments at school got out of control.
Slowly, I climb to my feet, leave my bedroom, and go into the bathroom. Every step causes the floorboards to creak as if the entire building is whining and complaining about its own state. After a quick shower, I’m about to return to bed—hopefully to sleep—when I hear a yell from the hallway. Is that Eli?
I rush from the apartment without thinking about who it could be. Perhaps it could be somebody bad in a neighborhood like this who might be armed. Then there’s the fact I’m only wearing shorts and a hoodie.
I find Eli in the hallway, a burly man pushing him against the wall. Rage twists my throat, so I can’t even speak. I yell, glaring at him, the ugly sight of this man’s large fist wrapped around Eli’s shirt. The man is taller and broader than him and probably in his forties. He’s got a big belly but looks strong and built like a tree.