The Pact (Winslow Brothers #2) Read Online Max Monroe

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Funny, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Winslow Brothers Series by Max Monroe
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Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 505(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
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I realize that then I don’t have a condom. Ironically, I should’ve had the foresight to have one in my pocket to keep a drunken Ty out of trouble this weekend, but apparently I dropped the fucking ball.

My cock is pulsing, damn near purple from arousal, and Daisy is right here, with her thighs spread and her pussy wet with need.

Fuck.

“I don’t have a condom.”

“It’s fine,” she breathes out in a raspy, needy voice, but her eyes are still half closed. “I’m on the shot. I’m clean. And I haven’t had sex in, like, eleventy-billion years.”

Her commentary almost makes me laugh, but again, I’m so fucking hard right now, I could hammer nails.

A rational guy like me doesn’t have unprotected sex, but tonight, I don’t fucking know. I can’t stop looking at her, staring at how gorgeous and downright tempting she looks with her legs spread wide for me.

And you sure as shit can’t find the will to stop whatever is happening here.

“I’m clean too,” I tell her, and like a fucking masochistic psycho, I slide a finger inside her to remind myself of how damn good she feels.

“Then we’re all set.” A tiny moan escapes her lips, and she wiggles her hips closer to my hand. “It’s allllll good. All set to consummate,” she rambles, and it’s only then that she gathers enough strength to lift her head from the counter, her glazed-over eyes landing squarely on my girth. “Uh…wow…” She licks her lips. “Uh…you’re…”

“Big,” I finish for her. It’s not a brag or a flex or some stupid ego type of bullshit. It’s just a fact. To be honest, I’ve found it scares more women than it excites.

“How… Is that… Is it going to fit?”

“Oh yeah. I made sure your sweet little cunt would be ready for me.”

And just imagine how she’s going to feel wrapped around your cock…

Fuck.

I don’t miss the way she swallows hard, the bob of her throat visible even in the moonlit kitchen.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Her head stutters, but she ultimately nods. By the fifth or sixth bout up and down, it’s much more resolute. “Yes. I-I want you, Flynn. I need to know what you feel like.”

Fuck it. I can’t hold back. I have to be inside her, too.

Her words hit like a buzz, sending my mind into a tailspin of naughty—really fucking dirty thoughts. If she wants to know what I feel like, I’m going to make sure her pussy walls remember every goddamn stroke like I’ve written them in braille.

Sunday, April 7th

Daisy

I pull open the bedroom door—Flynn’s bedroom door—to the hallway, my clothes back in place thanks to a stealth mission at the crack of dawn and Flynn’s folded T-shirt in my arms, and head for the kitchen. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at the door, working up the nerve to come outside and face everything I did last night in the light of day, but it’s bordering on way too long.

His bed. The walls. The black chair in the corner in front of the closet. They all know things. Things I’m not even sure I knew about myself before Flynn opened up an erotic portal to a place I’ve never been before.

Sweet land of the living, the man is…well-informed about the female body. He knew all the spots, all the buttons to push. I swear, if I weren’t sure it would make me sound entirely crazy, I’d consider asking him if he went 50/50 with God on all the details of the clitoris.

Deep breaths in and out, over and over again, I straighten my spine and force myself to walk toward the kitchen with my head held high. I’m a strong, independent woman. So what if I had insanely hot—condomless—sex last night with my husband who isn’t really my husband but a conduit in helping me get a green card. It’s no big deal.

No big deal? Ha. That’s cute.

Surprisingly, the room is completely quiet as I step inside, and Flynn is nowhere to be seen. The counter pulls my attention immediately, and a tiny crimson tidal wave starts its ascent up the skin of my throat.

That counter…knows the details of my labia.

Shocked by my own thoughts, I squeak, cover my mouth, and power walk across the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and taking a peek in the fridge. I’m happy to find some orange juice—the vitamin C is definitely needed today—that’s within its expiration timeline and pour it into the waiting vessel.

“Finding everything okay?” Flynn asks, making my heart shoot through a self-inflicted hole in the ceiling. Cripes. Maybe I’m more on edge than I thought.

But, gah, what am I supposed to be like? I got married last night. Not in practice, of course, but in documentation, and hell, the mind-bending sex probably added at least a little fine print at the bottom.


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