Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
It’s all too fucking sexy.
But I want this to last. So I use slow motions, to start.
Only they’re not slow enough. I’m close already.
My eyelids flutter closed.
My breath hitches.
My toes curl.
I push myself closer and closer with every stroke.
He stays there, hands wrapped around my thighs, attention on me. His breath fills the space. His fingers brush my skin. His eyes stay on me.
Even though I’m not looking, I can feel it.
But I need to see it, too. I blink my eyes open and look at him.
The intensity in his dark eyes undoes me.
With the next stroke of my finger, I go over the edge. My sex pulses as I come. It’s all fast, too fast, but I don’t want to stop, either. Pleasure spills through my pelvis, down my thighs, all the way to my toes.
My body shudders with release.
I collapse with aftershocks.
Then, he’s there, his lips against my inner thigh. Then higher and higher.
The soft brush of his mouth.
Again.
Again.
Then his flat, wet tongue.
Too much and not enough.
He doesn’t tease me here. He works me with steady strokes, pinning my legs into the bed as he tastes me.
The pressure inside me winds quickly. Tighter and tighter, until it’s too much to take. Then he scrapes his nails against my thigh, and he pushes me into the bed, just a little harder, and I come from the force of it.
My sex pulses against his mouth as I buck my hips, taking more, taking every bit of him I can get.
He works me through my orgasm, then he pulls back, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
There’s something sexy about the gesture. Impossibly sexy.
River stands.
I sit up enough to push his boxers off his hips. He looks so good here, in the light of day, in my room.
Naked in my room.
And completely rapt.
All of his attention is on me. And all of mine is on him.
I’m not sure which of us is in control anymore and, for once, I don’t care. I don’t want to stop and examine the situation. I want to feel him come.
I wrap my hand around him. I pump him with steady strokes, then I scoot back to the edge of the bed, and I lower myself onto the ground, onto my knees.
He groans as I take him into my mouth. Slowly, at first, so I can taste every inch of him.
Then I pull back and take him again. It’s almost too much. I’m out of practice. And, really, I’ve never understood the fuss. With most guys, it’s too much work, and it’s thankless, too.
But right now, I understand all of it. I feel every ounce of it. I need to take him, drive him out of his mind, consume him the way he consumed me.
It overwhelms me.
It pushes everything else aside.
I press my tongue flat against him, and I take him again.
He presses one hand to the back of my head and guides me over him. He brings his other hand to my breast, teasing my nipple as I take him again and again.
The two of us, a perfect circle of pleasure. I feel that. I want to give this to him because I need him. Because I like him. Because he makes my entire body shake with desire.
His thighs shudder as he gets closer.
His posture changes. He rocks into me, pushing deeper, almost too deep, but I want to take that, too. All of it.
Then he says my name like it’s his favorite thing in the world and all my other thoughts fade away.
I bring my hand to his ass, and I take him deeper.
With the thrust of his pelvis, he comes. He groans my name as he rocks into me. And I do everything I can to hold on as he spills into my mouth.
I wait until he’s finished, then I pull back and swallow hard.
He looks at me like I’m heaven sent, and I feel something more familiar: the gratitude I’ve seen in past relationships. The wall that falls after a man comes. The lack of defenses.
But that feels different, too. Because I know him. Who he is, what he wants, what he likes about me.
I know him in a way I never knew Stephan.
And I want him to know me in another way. I want him to know all of me. Not just the version who uses her sister for seduction inspiration. Or the version who puts on a bold face for investors. Or the version who plays tough to keep everyone away.
No. That’s not a game.
I am tough.
But I’m soft, too.
I want to show him all of that.
And that’s really fucking scary.
…
The afternoon is perfect. We sneak out of the house for lunch at another spot by the beach. We come home, kiss goodbye in the car, head to our separate living spaces (both of us have family dinner tonight).