Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
The release is explosive, my mind spinning as I call out, my nerves hypersensitive as Leif bobs his head up and down quickly, then pulls back, and I hear him fucking swallow me before he licks cum off the head.
I don’t know what comes over me—hell, I’m hardly in control of my movements—but I reach down and take his chin, guiding him up until we’re face-to-face. “Open your mouth,” I tell him, and when he does, I lick his tongue for a taste. Then I grab either side of his head, burying my face into his as we’re all tongues, saliva, and remnants of us.
I should be sated after everything we did, but I can’t get enough of Leif, and I pull him back down onto the bed, making out with him, wanting to stay lost in this experience for as long as we can. Away from the real world and bullshit, the grief of the loss of my brother and the fucking fears I have about Leif’s safety.
When I finally manage to pull away, I keep my arm hooked around him, tugging against his back so his torso is tight against my body.
“That was bold,” I say as my gaze fixes on his lips.
“I was too curious not to try.” He hooks his leg over mine. “And I figured after taking a dick, what the hell, right?”
I chuckle. “Don’t know what I’m laughing about. Nothing about that was funny. Just hot.”
“Yeah, that was hot. But you liked it?” He quirks his eyebrow, and my eyes widen. I’m stunned.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Or just baiting for a compliment?”
“Maybe baiting a little. Wondering how it compares with the guys you’ve been with who are more experienced.”
“Okay, Leif, you can get those kinds of insecure thoughts out of your head because you’re in your own league.”
“Whoa, whoa. I wasn’t saying I was insecure. But I’m not as practiced as other people my age might be.”
“In that case, don’t worry about your inexperience because that’s part of what makes it hot too.”
I lick his lips, and he licks right back.
As my dick gets hard again, he glances down. “Seriously. You’re already good to go again. Little thing just packed with cum, aren’t you?”
“Maybe being short helps with the circulation, but yeah, doesn’t take me long.”
“Now I know what they mean by a short king.”
“Normally I don’t like people commenting on my height,” I say, and his smile shifts to a frown. “No, I meant I normally don’t, but I like you calling me a short king. That makes it sound kinda hot.”
“Oh, it is,” he assures me as his smile returns.
“I have to warn you: now that you’ve spoiled my cock, it’s gonna be expecting this kind of naughty fun all the time.”
“You could say the same about my ass.”
Now he’s got me grinning like a dork. Fuck me.
He leans close and licks my chin, and when he pulls away, I steal another kiss.
“See, and if you’d kept ignoring me, you were never going to get that,” he says, reminding me of all the tension before he first came over.
That kills my smile, and I settle on my side, resting my head on the pillow; Leif mirrors my position.
“That was supposed to be a fun tease,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to put you in a mood.”
“Sorry. Reminded me of all the bullshit in my head before you came over and sucked it out of me.”
I’m trying to lighten the mood because, really, if only it were that easy and it wasn’t still rattling around in my brain. But I think about how hard it was to confess what was on my mind to him, and that he didn’t judge me for it, just stayed here, holding my hand, wanting to know more.
“Who are you, Leif Anderson?” I meant to say that in my head, but as the words push out of my lips, I don’t stop them.
His brow furrows. “All this time watching me, and you don’t already know the answer?”
“No, I don’t.” And that kind of pisses me off. Shouldn’t I?
“Only fair because I’m wondering who you are, Zane Grayson.”
Good point.
I think about how I got off the subject earlier when he brought up my father.
It wasn’t his fault for imagining Dad was a typical loving dad, like his. How could he know any differently when I keep this so tight to my chest, along with all the other shit I carry?
I should keep it to myself, be grateful he backed off and helped me forget all the bullshit with our messing around.
But maybe it’s what we just shared. Or how he’s pressed up against me, gazing into my eyes. Or how good it felt to share other shit with him. Whatever the reason, I feel a lump in my throat, as if the words I want to say are pushing to get out. And I surrender. “Do you remember when you asked me where I learned to shoot?”