Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
But I hold it in and go slow so she can enjoy herself to the fullest.
Just as she’s about to wind down I bring my hand up, press my palm right up against her neck so my thumb is on her jawline, and I lean into her ear so I can give her a little boost and get her across that finish line one more time.
“Next time… I’ll take you from behind, Rosie Harlow.” I barely recognize my own voice, it’s so husky and filled with lust. She must not either because her eyes slowly open—just halfway though. Like she’s not quite finished, but at the same time, she can’t help but pay closer attention to what I’m saying. “Next time I’m gonna blow your fuckin’ mind, Rosie Harlow. Next time, you sweet peach, I will make you beg for it. But tonight… you get this.”
And just as I say these last few words, I start fucking her. Like really fucking her. My head pressed into her shoulder, my arms straining as I grip her ass and hold her steady, and then I pull out, drop her, making her crouch in front of me, and I grin as she tilts her head up with wide, surprised eyes. Wondering what I’ll do next.
Everyone knows what comes next and, if I’m being honest, I quite like the facial.
But you don’t give a ray of sunshine a facial the very first time you fuck. I would not disrespect Rosie that way. Instead I bend down, spread her legs open, and look her right in the eyes as I come, squirting it all over her beautiful pussy.
I think she moans a little, but honestly, it’s rather difficult to pay attention when I’m in the middle of raptured delight.
We both stay like this for a moment. Replaying what just happened.
Then, when I’m done experiencing my moment, I stand up and offer her my hand.
She blows out a breath and with it comes a smile. She accepts my hand and stands up in front of me. Her hair is all askew, looking very much just-fucked, and her halter top is all sideways. I look down at it, then up to meet her gaze. “Next time, I’m gonna play with those tits too.”
Rosie blinks at me but doesn’t say nothing.
I put myself back together, go into the kitchen, tear off a paper towel, run it under some warm water, and then take it over to her and start cleaning her up, wiping down her stomach and inner thighs as well as her pussy because I wasn’t very careful with the aim.
When I’m done, I crouch down, pick up her shorts, and hold them up.
Rosie bites her lip, trying to hide a smile, I think. Then places her hands on my shoulders and steps back into her shorts.
I pull them up her legs, fasten the button, and then lean in and kiss her soft and slow, whisperin’, “You are delicious. I’m gonna have myself two helpings of dessert next time.”
Then I turn and head to the door.
I would like to spend the night, but I know the limits. There’s no way that’s even on the menu tonight. And as I’m walking down the path to my truck, the reason why comes jogging up the street.
Cross waves, cutting across the grass towards his front door. “Bye, Amon!”
I salute him. “See ya next time, kid.” Then I get in my truck and smile like a fucking fourteen-year-old boy all the way back to the compound.
Small-town woman with shining gray eyes and a personality to match who also loves dogs is seeking a handsome man to make her swoon over hamburgers and fried chicken while he promises to take her son buck hunting in the fall. She is a bit dramatic, dresses like a teenager, and is perpetually optimistic. He kisses like a prince, fucks like a villain, and she wants him to take her right now because he said all the right things at the dinner table and deserves an extra-special helpin’ of dessert for his efforts.
It’s good. I am not a bad copywriter by any means. But there’s a lot of room for improvement. I mean, ‘kisses like a prince and fucks like a villain’ is pretty prime, but the rest can use some work.
It’s Tuesday morning and I’m sitting inside my Bishop printshop wearing my favorite pretty dress as I chew on the end of a fountain pen, trying to come up with some enticing words.
My mind, however, is still stuck on the sex last night.
Amon Parrish was everything I thought he’d be and more. He was forceful, and dirty, and made me a little nervous if I’m being honest. But not in a bad way. More of a breathless way. The wall fuck on the first time?
It makes a lot of sense with certain guys. The alpha type. Which Amon definitely is—in his own way, at least. But he’s not typical. I mean, the James Dean date definitely says alpha but would the alpha type put on the Colonial costume?