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)
Hands slide up my legs, over my thighs, then down again.
Up.
Down.
This is going to lead to no good—not that I’m complaining…
And by no good, I mean sex.
And by no, I mean YES.
I’m not wrong. A few seconds after his large palms skim back up my thighs, his fingers hook inside the waistband of my leggings, tugging them down.
I lift my hips to make his life easier, pulse quickening. Eager. Horny. Wanting that dick inside me that he’s been teasing me with for the past twenty-four hours that I’ve only been able to get inside my mouth.
“You do know I’m not going to be the only one here who is not wearing any pants,” I tell him.
“Do you want me to take off my pants?”
“Only if you want to take off my pants. New rule: an item for an item. If you want to take something off me, you have to remove something of yours in return. Deal?”
I know two things for certain:
Eli is a sucker for a bet.
Eli wants to get me naked.
He nods, already shucking his pants. “Is it weird that we’re both still wearing shirts?”
Probably. I nod. “Yeah, but—you take yours off first.”
He stares. “That’s not the deal. The deal is, item for an item.”
“I never made that deal with you—you made it with me.”
His mouth goes from a smile to a frown as he debates his options. He can’t decide if he’s going to argue his point with me or not.
“Fuck it.” Off comes his shirt, and there he is, bare chested, no pants. Did I mention the same body I saw this morning is just as gorgeous as it was five hours ago?
Facts.
Eli isn’t smooth like some of the men I’ve gone out with. He has a smattering of hair on his chest—a fact I like. Some dudes wax and shave, but it seems our guy here keeps it one hundred.
I approve.
I lie back so he can completely remove the leggings, staring at the ceiling with a smirk as he struggles to get them from around my ankles.
“Dammit,” he complains. “Why are these so tight?”
“Are you complaining?” I scold. “Sounds like it.”
“I’m not,” Eli retracts quickly. “These pants are fine and not a pain in the ass at all.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can never get them off either.”
That confession comes with a smile.
Eli—who’s only wearing boxer shorts at this point—dips forward and kisses me on the stomach with a promise of what’s to come. More oral? Sex?
His fingers find the elastic band of my underwear (for once in my life, I wore briefs and not granny panties), sliding them along the sensitive curve of my inner thigh.
Teasing me.
My head is still tipped back on the couch, eyes still watching him. I feel his every move, especially now that his hands are all over me.
It doesn’t take long for me to get turned on. I’m wet in nearly an instant, already trembling with anticipation. Better than the sushi, better than dessert, better than the movie he was watching—obviously.
Not to brag, but I’d bet a thousand bucks that blow job I gave him this morning was the best he’s ever had. Judging by the look he’s giving me right now—urgency, excitement, starry-eyed interest—he’s thinking about it right now.
My lips, his dick.
My vajayjay, his dick.
I still have my shirt on, so to move things along, I remove it and toss it to the floor. I’m wearing the only clean bra I had in my drawer, and thank god it’s a good one: white lace, demi cup, tits barely fit in it.
Eli’s eyes get wide.
I swear, if he was a dog, drool would be coming from the side of his mouth and dripping onto my knee.
“Like what you see?” Oh, god, I did not just say that. I sound like a bad pantomime of a porn, and not even a well-written one at that.
“Fuck yeah, I do.”
Good answer.
Very enthusiastic.
My leg goes up, foot extended, toe pressing gently into the bulge between his legs. He’s hard—rock hard—the tip of his dick playing peek-a-boo between the folds of his boxer shorts, giving me flirty little glimpses of its pink flesh.
I try not to be even more cliché by licking my chops. Instead, I focus my attention on that erection, running the tip of my big toe over the navy-blue fabric of his boxers.
He’s trying not to moan. I can tell by the way he’s swallowing and closing his eyes. The way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
The way his nostrils flare.
Still on my back, Eli crawls over me, bracing his hands on either side of my head, dragging his dick between my legs. My hands join the party by running over his abs. They’re not well defined, but his skin feels sensational and warm.
He dips his head.