Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I feel powerful when I’m with him.
As if I were the giant and he were the pixie.
“I don’t know where to start first,” I tell him honestly. The past few dudes I’ve been with were the exact opposite of Brodie’s type: theater majors, business majors, and one science geek.
I run my hands over his chest, moving over him, rubbing my tits against his bare chest, his hands on my ass, squeezing my butt cheeks.
Heaven.
How we went from Squirrel Patrol to Pussy Control is beyond me, but I’ll take it….
I inch back over him, scooting low enough so I have access to the zipper on his jeans—unsnap the button and begin the zippers lowly decent, watching his face the whole time.
It reads like a range of emotions. He wants it, but he doesn’t. He wants me to touch his dick, but he’s tempted to have me pull back.
I lick my bottom lip, biting.
Guys think that’s sexy, yeah?
Climb off him so I can do the job properly and don’t get in my own way, unzipping him and pulling at the denim, cursing their stiffness and lack of malleability.
Fucking jeans…
“Remind me never to wear jeans in your presence. I want you to be able to tear my clothes off me at all times.” This is ridiculous.
Brodie’s eyes get wide at my comment—so wide I want to snatch them back. The future tripping no doubt is going to shrivel his dick.
God forbid a girl mention anything in the future without a guy thinking they want to plan the wedding and start having his babies.
Sheesh.
Sometimes we just have sex and cuddle and have him tell us we’re pretty—is that so wrong?
Real talk, though: I wouldn’t be about to suck his dick if I didn’t feel a spark of something for him.
“Okay. I’ll remind you,” he croaks out, fingers going to my hair, tangling themselves up in it. Fisting my long locks.
“Good boy,” I tell him, giving a glance at the clock. He said his roommates went to a movie—I just want to make sure there’s enough time for us to fool around before they come crashing back into the house.
He helps me tug his jeans down his legs, his cock threatening to break out of the bright blue boxer briefs he’s wearing, and I run my entire palm down its length, judging its size before sliding my hand into his underwear.
I want to mentally prepare in case he’s…you know, below average.
He’s not.
He’s perfect.
The most decent dick I’ve had the pleasure to meet, and once I have his underwear down to his thighs, I lean down and take it in my mouth.
“Jesus Christ,” Brodie hisses. “Holy f-fucking shit, Lizzy…”
Good boy.
I suck, no expert at blowies but determined to get him as far down my throat as I can without gagging—dudes might like it, but I sure as hell don’t—and based on the loud moaning and groaning he’s doing, I’d say I’m doing a crack on job.
I hum, making my throat vibrate around him, adjusting my position so I can play with his balls—something I read about online.
How is it possible to never have kissed this particular human before, yet it’s like you’ve spent your whole life kissing them? Except you only just met them.
“F-fuck L-lizzy,” he stutters, legs beginning to shake. “Oh f-fuck.”
Really, Brodie? Shaking knees? My, my, my, giving me all this power, and all I have to do is have your dick down my throat…
His groveling spurns me on, and I suck harder, pressing my finger into the base of his balls, making little circles.
There.
See if you can get through that without coming.
It doesn’t take long at all—and if he comes this fast every time I take him in my mouth, then maybe I’ll be giving blow jobs a whole lot more than I have in the past, the entire BJ lasting under five minutes.
Tops.
I consider that a record, swallowing—but still wiping my mouth when I pull away so I can bask in my victory. He has one hand slung over his chest—which is heaving up and down—and his eyes are closed.
Shirt off.
Dick starting to go limp.
It’s a beautiful sight, honestly.
I lie next to him, snuggling into his massive frame, curling up like a kitty cat, practically purring with contentment.
Still, there is one question on my mind:
Now what?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
BRODIE
Do I ask her to spend the night? Or do I help her gather up her things and send her home?
Shit. That seems savage.
But the last time I read a rule book on dating was never, so I have no clue what to do with her—or myself.
I sneak a peek at my watch when it illuminates and see that the night is still young. It’s not even nine, but the movie will be getting over at some point, and my roommates will be pouring in, and yes, that’s the first thing that’s crossing my mind.