Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
The kitchen and living area were lit only by the cozy, flickering fire and the television set. Spencer seemed to be watching something loud and full of shouting and explosions. He looked up when she stepped out of the bathroom, his glasses gleaming from the light of the television screen.
“Hey, the movie’s just started, you haven’t missed much.” He held out a hand, motioning her to join him, and she hesitated. He wanted to watch a movie? Seriously? That was . . . that was truly flippin’ weird. Did she have to wear a sign saying “easy lay” for him to understand that he didn’t have to go through the usual tedious motions to get lucky with her?
Not sure what to do, she took a couple of tentative steps toward the man-size, comfy-looking sofa. When she got close enough, he grabbed her hand and tugged her down next to him. He lifted the little lap blanket—seriously, a lap blanket, this guy was adorable—and dragged her legs over his lap, cupping the soles of her feet in one large hand and hooking his free arm around her shoulders to tuck her snugly beneath his armpit.
This wasn’t half bad. She snuggled close to his seriously ripped bare chest—ah, the perks of stealing his pajama top—one cheek resting on a firm, smooth pec, his tight nipple just an inch away from her mouth. She tucked one hand into the dip of his taut waist and rested the other in the small of his lower back, just where the curve of his butt began.
Beneath her calves, she could feel the swell of his penis, and it was hard, which gave her hope that she wasn’t a complete failure at the seduction thing. Still, he did nothing about it, just gently kneaded the balls of her feet with one hand and toyed with her hair with the other.
“What are we watching?” she asked. Feeling so safe and warm and comfortable that she could barely form the words.
“Captain America.”
“First one?”
“Second.”
“Oh, I’ve seen that one.”
“Me too, but it’s a fun one to rewatch.” His voice rumbled beneath her ear. She traced little patterns on his chest, and his breath hitched. She smiled at the reaction, but he lifted his hand from her feet and plastered it over her wandering fingers. Pressing her hand flat against his chest.
“Behave. We’re watching a movie.”
“But I’ve seen it.” She could hear the pout in her voice and was appalled by how girlish she sounded. What on earth was this man doing to her?
“Nevertheless, we’re watching it.”
“Spoilsport,” she grumbled, but she decided to go with this for the moment and see where it led . . .
Where it led was to the end of the movie. He did nothing for nearly two hours, just watched the movie while stroking her hair, then her back, her feet and occasionally her calves. His erection waxed and waned . . . mostly waxed. The thing had been an almost constant companion throughout the movie. And occasionally she’d rub her legs against it to get some kind of reaction from him, but he’d just still her movements with his quelling hand. He had some serious Jedi mind tricks when it came to controlling his hard-on, because any other man would have had her pinned and staked hours ago. Spencer had phenomenal willpower.
The credits started rolling, and he made a satisfied sound.
“Great movie,” he said, letting go of her toes to stretch luxuriously. He turned his attention on her, his eyes heavy lidded and intent.
“Nobody’s ever thrown me over for Steve Rogers before,” she complained, and his lips quirked.
“You haven’t been thrown over, just put on hold for a moment.”
“Still, I’m a little irked.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” It was hard to get a mad going when you were snuggled up to the hardest, hottest, and sexiest chest in town, but Daff was for damned sure going to give it the old college try.
“I didn’t mean to irk you,” he said and quickly shifted his hands to her waist and dragged her into his lap. “C’m’ere, darling.”
Before she knew it, she was straddling his lap, her naked mound coming into immediate contact with the hard, thick ridge beneath the crotch of his flannel pants.
“Hmm,” he purred, the long, drawn-out sound brimming with satisfaction. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.”
She was, embarrassingly so, and had been for most of the movie. A result of all his petting and cuddling and the feel of that constantly hard penis beneath her legs. Her moisture immediately dampened the crotch of his pants, leaving absolutely nothing of what lay beneath to the imagination.
“And you’re so hard,” she replied, her voice sultry. He lifted his hands to her hair and tugged her down for a kiss. She crossed her forearms around the back of his head, her elbows digging into his shoulders as she clung to him while his mouth ravaged hers. His tongue was hot and demanding, and she was very willing to acquiesce to his every demand right now. He dragged his mouth away and, with shaky hands, fumbled with the buttons on the pajama top before losing patience and ripping it open. The plastic buttons went flying, landing on the wooden floor with little pings.