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)
His mouth goes to the swell of my breasts, lips kissing between them before his nose nudges the bra down to expose my nipple.
He licks it.
Gets it wet with his tongue and blows on it.
In my mind—in my imagination—he’s the hot lawyer who just summoned me to court. Wait, no! He’s the manager of the apartment complex, and I’m staying in my friend’s penthouse, house sitting while she’s in Fiji, and he stopped by to make sure I didn’t need anything and also, her plumbing needs fixing…
But this isn’t a porn, and he’s not the manager of the complex, and his lips are sucking my nipple—I should be in the moment, not visualizing entirely fictitious fantasies.
Focus, Molly!
“You smell so good,” I breathe. His hair smells like whatever they put in men’s shampoo, and his cologne smells even better.
Eli Cohen is an olfactory wet dream, and his cock is twitching above my needy pussy, begging to be let out of his boxers.
I oblige, in no rush to wait.
“Let’s speed things along, shall we?”
“This is the reason I like you, Molly Summervale.”
“It is? Is that the only reason?”
“No. I also love your tits.” He kisses my tits. “And your brain.”
Sucks. “And how funny you are.” Lick.
It doesn’t escape my notice that he uses the word love rather than like, but I have sex brain and could be reading into it because we’re both turned on and on the brink of fucking.
Eli spends way too much time lollygagging, dry fucking me slowly as he hovers.
I’m impatient and want it now.
We can do slow and hot next time. Right now, I want instant gratification, having waited so long between partners.
I’m on birth control, and I let him know it. “You know—if we’re about to have sex, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t sleep with anyone else.” I pant, breathing heavily. “Not that we need to label the relationship, but I’d prefer not to get an STD from you.”
“Agree.” He nods, kissing my neck. “I won’t sleep with other people, and you won’t sleep with other people.”
“Good.” I nod, settling the matter. “Can I see that in writing?”
“Yes. I’ll send you an email, and you can print it out.”
I laugh, knowing he probably will. “I’ll frame it.”
“Frame my dick.” He laughs back.
“Frame your dick?” I can’t help the loud bubble of laughter that erupts from my throat.
“I have no idea why I said that.”
I’ll give him a pass on that dumb comment. “Probably because you have no blood in your brain.”
“I can solve that problem for both of us.”
“Oh yeah?” I demure, wondering where all this playful banter is coming from, considering we’ve barely flirted with one another at all since we met. Neither of us seems to have the tolerance for it.
“Yeah.” His mouth is still on my neck, kissing it where I love to be kissed the most: at the curve of my shoulder. Near my ear. My jawline. “You’re so gorgeous.”
Gorgeous.
I’m not sure I’d call myself that, but I’m glad he assigned me that word and not “hot.” I’m a grown-ass woman and loathe when men use the term hot. It’s generic and takes little to no thought.
“You feel so good.” I run my hands up and down his back, fingertips trailing along his spine, pressing into the angel kisses above his ass and basking in his firm quads.
“So do you,” he whispers, hand between us dipping into the front of my panties, thumb grazing above my…
“Take them off.”
I nudge him to take off his boxers as well, letting him do the brunt of the work while I lie here watching—as per usual. Listen, I’ve done my time with men where I did most of the seducing; blown them, initiated sex, worn sexy, expensive lingerie to get them turned on, blah blah blah.
It's time I found a man who didn’t care about any of that—he cares about pleasing me.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not being selfish. But I want—need—to see what kind of guy Eli is in bed. How patient and willing he is to roll with the flow.
Very.
A+
Top of the class.
More dry fucking, more teasing, more kissing.
I love the way he kisses, tongue not too demanding, not too wet. Everything feels like it’s being paced to perfection, and I feel absolutely no pressure one way or another from Eli or from myself.
The perfect amount of everything…
When he finally enters me, it’s slow and steady; I feel every inch of his dick and spread my legs to accommodate him, my ass on the edge of the couch, the canvas fabric most likely chafing my skin—something I’ll worry about later when I check it in the mirror.
“Oh god, you feel good,” he says again.
He does too, but the words get stuck in my throat.
Eli thrusts and thrusts, and I tilt my head back against the throw pillows, languishing in my nerve endings, sensory overload, on the brink of something but unable to reach it.