Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I glance down at the top of her head again, this angel with my cock in her wet, warm mouth.
Goddamn, Molly is perfect.
A woman who gives blow jobs? I could fall in love with a woman like this.
I smile, gently wrapping a strand of hair around my index finger and giving a tiny tug.
Fuck this feels good, fuck this feels good, fuck this feels go—
She chokes a little, just a bit, but doesn’t stop.
Not a quitter. Another thing I like about her.
Another hum.
Another self-gratifying moan to let me know she’s into it.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
Fuck this feels good, fuck this feels good, fuck this feels good…
The buildup feels incredible and I don’t know if it’s because it’s been so long or because she’s so enthusiastic or because she’s good at it or because I’m a needy motherfucker, but my cock and balls get heavy with need, want, heat.
“I’m gonna come,” I warn her.
Tap her on the shoulder in case she didn’t hear me.
Her head shakes.
What does that mean?
“Oh fuck…”
Fuck, it feels good.
God, I love having my dick sucked.
And then it happens.
I explode.
Molly’s head is still down when I come, mouth still on my dick when I come, throat, lips, tongue still sucking.
Oh fuck me…fuck me good.
I could kiss this woman right now, her angelic face smiling up at me, pulling my boxers and shorts back up over my pelvis to cover me up as I lie there like a piece of shit because my arms are too useless to do it myself.
Red cheeks.
Swollen lips.
Dark, sooty lashes.
I pull her in for a kiss, hand behind her head. She protests—obviously she does because she had cum in her mouth not ten seconds ago, but I don’t give a shit about any of that. I need to kiss her.
Thank her.
Anything she wants, anything at all.
“Those llamas were cute,” she tells me when we’re finally on our way out of town, cruising along the coast on route back to the airport. “Fun fact, my mom always loved the llamas at the county fair. That’s the one thing we always had to go look at when we were there.”
“Llamas? Why?”
She shrugs. “Don’t know. Llamas and alpacas. I think if they didn’t live near the city, she would want one.”
“Huh.” Interesting. “Did you have any animals growing up?”
“No, my parents were really busy. They never let me have animals because we traveled a lot, and pets took up too much time. But Tripp had his bulldog, and I took care of Chewy, which was a nice trade-off. I got my dog fix.”
“What was he like as a boss? I hear he was a real asshole back in his prime.”
“Yeah, I guess he would have been considered an asshole. He definitely had a candy-coated shell around him. Easy enough to break it once you get to know him.”
“He’s a real softy now. His wife really brings out the best in him.”
Molly nods. “That’s what a good partner does—brings out your best qualities, not make the bad ones worse.”
My mind strays to Laura, who had no interest in bringing out the best in anything, and why does my mind keep drifting to her? I’ve had seven, eight months to get over her, and our relationship was more habitual than a love-filled one.
“Do you want kids?” I ask her.
“Someday. Not now, but someday, I think.” Her hair is swept up in a high ponytail, and it whips around her face. “I guess I can’t imagine having kids because I don’t have anyone to imagine a future with, know what I mean?”
Yes, I know what she means.
“What about you, Eli? Ever think of having kids?”
I used to—all the time. For a while, that’s all I wanted even though I work a ton of hours and have a demanding, stressful job. Somehow, the idea of a baby and a family made the future less bleak.
Less lonely.
“I’d like to have kids.”
“How many?”
“At least two?” A boy and a girl perhaps, with sandy brown hair and freckles across their nose, who love swimming and ice cream and constantly beg for a puppy.
My heart squeezes as I stare straight ahead at the highway, the oncoming traffic, focused on the road.
Her hand reaches across the center console, and she takes mine, lacing our fingers together.
Smiling, she tips her head back, closing her eyes and letting the sun wash over her face.
She lifts her head and looks over at me. “When did you and Laura break up?”
“Eh, I don’t know—eight months ago? Six? Nine?”
Molly is quiet again.
“And how pregnant is she?”
I shrug. “No idea.”
She, “Hmps,” seemingly lost in thought, glancing through the window that’s rolled up even though the roof has been removed.
Molly doesn’t say much else during the stretch of road on the way to the airport but still holds my hand the entire way. Gives it a squeeze every now and again to let me know she’s with me.