Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
When he knew I was ready, he pulled out a condom from his pocket and dropped his pants.
My eyes took him in, seeing his bottom half match the top half. His thighs powerful and toned, full of the same muscle definition he had in his torso and arms, and his narrow hips had that prominent V that segmented two levels of muscle.
His dick was exactly what I expected—and it matched everything else about his body.
Humongous.
He got the condom on then moved between my legs, his arms pinning my legs back so he could sink inside my pussy with the least resistance. He left my shirt pushed up to my shoulders with my tits on display, and the bed shifted and moved again as he repositioned himself. “Just for tonight, chérie. I will give you all of me.” He pressed his head covered with the stressed latex between my lower lips and slowly pushed to get through.
Completely absorbed in this moment, nothing could pull me out of it. Our surroundings, our reality, nothing could break the trance between our eyes, our bodies, and our hearts. I’d never wanted a man more, never wanted to give myself to someone like this, never wanted someone to take me, all of me.
He slowly sank inside me, patiently waiting for my body to accept him inch by inch, giving quiet moans as he claimed my body further and further.
My hand cupped his neck as I moaned at his entrance, winching at his size but appreciating it at the same time. His size was part of his nature, and I would never change it even if I could. I took the bad as well as the good. My other hand planted against his chest, and I breathed harder as he moved farther inside me, stretched me to full capacity, making this time somehow feel like my first time.
His intense eyes were glued to my face, his jaw tenser than it’d ever been, razor-sharp. When he reached a dead end inside me and could go no farther, he released a moan as he gently rocked his hips. “Chérie, tu es à moi.” With his eyes on me, he rocked into me at a quick and steady pace, his eyes burning into my fiery ones with lustful flames. “Si belle.” He spoke to me in French as he had me, enjoying me in a way a man had never enjoyed me, like I was the best he ever had when I just lay there and enjoyed it. “Je suis ton homme. Il n’y a que moi. Tu comprends ?”
He didn’t climax and leave.
He changed his condom and kept going, taking me again in the exact same position, speaking to me in French. His powerful body was slick with sweat, glistening in the light of the fire, making my sheets smell like him and our spent bodies combined. A pool of arousal had dripped down my ass to the sheets beneath me because he didn’t take me in another position, and that moisture grew until I could feel it coat my lower back.
Frenchmen fucked differently from Americans. His passion was unbridled, wild and free, and once, twice, even three times wasn’t enough. He was ready to keep going, to kiss me hard, to please me so thoroughly that my body actually ached. The fire burned down without either of us noticing, and the heat we made together kept the cabin warm despite the snow that fell out the window. He didn’t even want me to do any work. He just wanted me there, underneath him, taking his pounding dick. My only responsibility was to lie there and come, to scratch his skin with my sharp nails, to watch him fuck me like he’d never wanted a woman more.
I was about to come again, for the fourth time, when I didn’t think that was possible. Once was a miracle sometimes. Twice was a fluke attributed to my hormones. But three and four times…that was all him. I tugged on his lower back as I pulled him flush against my clit, ready to come again, my lips trembling and incoherent mutterings coming from between them. I reached for a word I couldn’t find, begged for a name to enter my throat so I could say it out loud.
He supplied it, as if he knew I was desperate to say his name in gratitude for the night he’d given me. “Fender. Say my name, chérie.” He pounded into me harder than before, filling the cabin with his grunts and heavy breaths, driving me into a final explosion as he reached his. “Say it.”
My eyes blurred with tears as I came around him, looking at him above me, saying the name in worship. “Fender…yes.” I said it again, like he was a god, like I should be nothing short of utterly grateful for the way he made my toes curl, the way he made everything hurt and feel good simultaneously. “Fender.”