Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
I growl when Autumn opens her mouth for me, her tongue sneaking out to lick the pad of my thumb. “I need you. Now. Here.”
My words have regressed to caveman grunts, but it’s all I can manage.
“Simon?” she questions, unsure. But I would never hurt her.
“Trust me. Turn around.” I wrap her waist in my hands, spinning her in place and putting her back to my front. With my hand wrapped around her neck, I tilt her head back so I can whisper in her ear. “Can I have you?”
I feel her thick swallow beneath my palm. “Yes,” she whispers on a breath. “Always.”
Unleashed, I gather her dress in my hands, pulling it up to reveal the full curves of her ass, which is split by the thin fabric of her thong. I grip her, massaging the flesh roughly. “Fuck, Princesse.”
She bends forward, her hands going to a shelf for support. With my eyes on the curves that haunt my thoughts, both awake and asleep, I reach for my belt. Thankfully, I left my jacket on a chair outside so that’s one less piece I have to move to get at Autumn. With my pants and underwear shoved halfway down my thighs, I pull her thong to the side and position myself at her entrance.
I thrust powerfully into her, and she cries out at the invasion, though she’s already wet for me. I do it again, stroking deep and hard, and this time, Autumn bucks her hips, fucking me back.
We’re pounding each other, my hips slapping her ass, which bounces with every thrust.
“Simon . . . slower . . . it’s okay,” she murmurs. The words come out with each pant as I continue to fill her.
No! I don’t want slow, I want to claim her body fiercely, remind us both of who she belongs to. But I pause, breathing to calm myself, knowing that my adrenaline is still racing from seeing Autumn in danger.
I stroke in again, this time more slowly, and when I’m deep, I grind there and vow, “I will be rough when you want rough and gentle when you want gentle. Because you are mine.”
She whimpers beneath me, squirming as I slip a hand over her hip and find her clit. “Yes . . .”
“Say it,” I rasp. When she’s quiet except for her moans of pleasure, I lay a soft swat to her pussy, right over her clit. “Say it.”
“Yours. I’m . . . yours.”
“Good girl,” I growl, patting her clit in tempo with my strokes. “Mine. Nobody touches you but me. No one.”
She echoes my words, “No one touches me. Just you.”
I lean forward, nipping her earlobe between my teeth. “And no one touches me but you. You are mine, and I am yours.”
I think she likes that because I feel flutters start inside her, the walls of her pussy squeezing down on me as she gets slicker. The sounds of our fucking grow obscene, filling the small closet with panting breath, low moans, the swats to her clit, and the wet thrusts into Autumn. If anyone walks by the closed door, there would be no doubt about what’s happening here.
But I don’t care.
I have Autumn impaled on my cock, agreeing that she’s mine and I’m hers. There could be nothing better.
This isn’t long, slow lovemaking. This is primal rutting, an intense joining that belies the emotions running below the surface, which are muted by the immediacy of our need. This intensity can’t last forever, but it doesn’t need to. In what feels like moments, Autumn is trembling on the edge for me, and my thrusts get rougher, my grunts louder.
“Come on my cock, Princesse. Do it now,” I demand. “Cover me with your honey and make me yours.”
“Yes,” she moans as her body spasms, jerking wildly.
I grip her hips hard, fighting to stay inside her as the squeezes of her pussy trigger my own orgasm. I explode, my cream filling her. I bend forward, covering her body with my own and gripping her hair to rumble in her ear . . . “Mine.”
She nods, the movement probably pulling her hair a bit, but she’s agreeing. “Yours.”
We ride out the aftershocks together, and when we both sag, Autumn giggles unexpectedly. “Did we really just fuck in a supply closet?”
I grin, looking around us at the stacks of towels and cleaning supplies, and on the far right, there’s a mop in an empty bucket. “It would appear so.”
“Guess I can mark that off my bucket list,” she jokes. Her laughter forces me out and Autumn squeals quietly, “Ooh!” She spreads her legs a bit, and cautions, “This dress is amazing, and I’m not getting cum stains on it. Hand me a towel.”
I laugh then and grab what ends up being a washcloth from a stack of white towels. She takes it from me, wiping herself as I grab one to clean up with too.