Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Another smack, this one on my left cheek, had me squeaking in surprise.
Somewhere in between one breath and the next, I felt his cock at my entrance.
My entire body froze solid and I started to semi-hyperventilate.
He was big.
Really, really big.
Bigger than my vibrator, which I used on a daily basis and way bigger than my ex.
Of course, Tyler himself was a big man. His hands were huge and the one time I’d looked down and studied his feet, I recall thinking that a man this large would be large in other places.
But feeling his penis at my entrance? Oh, man. I knew I was going to feel it tomorrow.
Did I tell him to stop? Did I say this wasn’t a good idea?
Hell no.
I was a smart girl.
I knew that, despite how big he was, this was going to feel really good.
Hell, it might feel great.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he murmured.
I licked my lips. “I’m thinking about how big your cock is and wondering how it’s going to feel when I have to walk miles and miles around the lake tomorrow. Not to mention all the boat riding I’ll have to be doing.”
He snickered and pushed an inch inside, making my eyes go wide.
“I imagine it’s going to feel like you’ve been thoroughly fucked.”
Before I could reply, he buried himself to the hilt and I screamed.
I tried to get myself under control. Tried to tone it down because I knew for a fact that there were at least seven elderly neighbors who might come over here just to check on me and make sure I was all right.
But…I didn’t care.
Didn’t and couldn’t.
I didn’t because he was doing things to me that I had wanted for a very long time and I couldn’t because he was making it hard to breathe. To draw oxygen into my lungs and form cohesive thoughts.
He pulled back slowly and I imagined that this was what it felt like when your soul was taken out of your body.
Sam and Dean from Supernatural had been favorites of mine since the show’s first episode aired. I’ve watched every single episode, on every single season and I watched multiple times as souls were taken from bodies.
And feeling him withdraw, feeling every inch of Tyler’s cock as it glided out of me at such a slow pace that I nearly cried out in refusal? Yeah, that’s definitely how I imagined the whole soul-leaving-the-body scenario.
He smoothed his hand down my spine to quiet and comfort me, as I realized that I hadn’t been as quiet as I’d thought I was being.
Damn, I was glad that my two closest neighbors wore hearing aids.
“You’re so tight. I have to go slow,” he murmured thickly.
I swallowed around a lump in my throat, somewhat mollified, at least for the moment, that he was planning on doing other things besides just that one thrust.
I looked at him over my shoulder.
His eyes were not on me. They were on my ass, or more likely, where the head of his cock was once again poised at my entrance.
He was shirtless and his tanned face matched his tanned chest—or at least what I could see of it was. That tanned chest had tattoos all over it.
I’m not even talking about big tattoos, either. I’m talking about tattoo after tattoo, spanning from his collarbone, just under where his shirt collar would ride, down to his belt. Some of the tattoos—like the octopus—wrapped partially around his side and disappeared into his pants at his waist.
He had a pirate ship, a gun with a bayonet and boots—it looked like it was a memorial of some sort—and a Japanese Oni/demon.
Swirls of tribal designs filled the space in between the tattoos and made it all come together into one cohesive collage.
All, that is, except for one tattoo, right above his heart.
That was the only spot that didn’t have a single drop of color. It spanned his entire pectoral muscle from nipple to collarbone. It was the only space on his entire torso without ink and my entire hand would likely fit there without touching a single drop of ink.
My fingers curled into my palm aching to touch that spot, but then he finally stopped jacking around and filled me again, making me forget my own name, let alone that I wanted to touch him.
I moaned into the couch cushion, not realizing that I’d turned back around again until I found it hard to breathe.
“Goddamn, you are tight,” he whispered. “I tried to gather control. Tried to tell myself you didn’t really feel as good as I thought you did. Tried to compose what you destroyed…but all it takes is feeling you wrapped around me again and I realize how stupid I really am.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
You’re welcome? I’m sorry?
I wasn’t sure if I should feel bad or not that he had zero control when it came to me.