Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Zel whines.
Wiggles.
Shakes her head in denial but continues to moan every time another whirl is whipped around.
The abrupt ending of our kiss is followed by the ruthless balling of her hair into one fist. Where my tongue was just wreaking havoc is replaced by the very strands, I’ve spent the evening lusting over. I stuff and stuff and stuff until what she has is a gorgeous ball-gag made of her own locks.
On a pleased smirk, I instruct, “Lean back onto your palms.”
Zel instantly obliges.
“Feet flat on the table.”
The next direction is met at the exact same speed.
I reach over, retrieve the champagne cork, and drop it into the liquid remains of my glass. Curiosity coats my toy’s face while she watches me chug back the beverage and remove the thick piece from my mouth. A devilish expression wedges itself on my face as I wedge the piece into her ass. There’s resistance. Screams from the unstretched muscles are attached to the ones trying to come from her lips. Hearing the pain trapped behind the beautiful, brunette blockade only makes my cock swell harder and me more eager to do to her little pussy what’s being done to her tiny back hole.
“Do not drop it, little doll.”
With the makeshift plug now in place, I latch my hands onto her hips and thrust inside. More howls are hidden from my ears, but there’s no denying how much pleasure she’s in regardless of what she may say. Her pussy greedily grabs me and begins pulsing in its best attempt to milk my balls dry after a single pump. I grit my teeth and hammer hard, each hit bouncing her ass, forcing her to clamp down to keep the cork in. Wetness cascades down my cock. Collects around my base. Drips past my balls and onto the pants plopped around my ankles. Both hands inch the fabric up into their possession until just the edge of it can ceaselessly feather her clit. The constant light skims cause her to buck her hips upwards in an anxious attempt for more friction yet fighting my fingers to get it results in them bruising the sensitive flesh.
Her muzzled mouth endlessly begs mercy.
Unrelentingly moans for more.
She shudders and shivers and screams as her entire body shakes to withstand every savage stroke.
It isn’t long before Zel’s angelic face is stained by runny mascara and smeared lipstick. Seeing her hair soaking wet from spit and sweat alike has my balls swelling to the point of no return. I ruthlessly bury my dick to the hilt on every heavy heave determined to have her feel me each time she takes a shallow fucking breath. Euphoric cries crawl past the matted together strips of hair to hit my ears, and I let myself go to them. Scorching burst after burst is splashed inside overpowering her orgasm before igniting another. Her hips don’t stop moving, don’t stop rocking, don’t stop coating my cock from root to tip in her sweltering juices until her tiny body can no longer hold itself up.
She crumples into a lifeless ball on the table yet doesn’t disobey.
Doesn’t release the hold on the object in her ass.
I happily grin to myself while stepping back to gently remove the plug. “Such a good, little doll.”
Satisfied sighs and hums are presented in return.
The stretched open territory gets me groaning and glaring again as I lower myself to a squatting position. “Tongue today…,” a swift, single roll around the rim is stolen, “cock tomorrow.”
Meek moans can barely be heard thanks to the hair that’s still gagging her mouth.
She may try to object, but the deal is done.
Her tongue touched the dotted line.
And now there is no part of Zel Pierson that won’t belong to me.
Chapter Eight
Zel
The taste of Elias’s lips created an impenetrable contract that I’d never go back on in a million years.
And now that I’ve had them pressed against my own it feels like that’s all I can think about sometimes. Getting them back on my mouth.
My neck.
Everywhere I have life in my body.
Anywhere they twist themselves into tasting.
I’m hooked.
I’m hooked to his touch…his smell…his voice…the way he calls me “little doll”.
I’m a self-admitted fiend for all things Elias Whittington.
Unfortunately, our almost perfect arrangement does have one minor issue.
For the past few weeks, Tomas has requested to see me. Requested might be the wrong word. Demanded. Tomas has repeatedly demanded to see me. In person – might I add – claiming that all the pictures of me and my “fake boyfriend” he’s seen don’t count.
I don’t know why they don’t count.
This is honestly the best relationship I’ve ever had.
Elias – continuing to be a man of his word – has specifically expressed he has absolutely no problem with me spending time with my brother. After all, the driver already takes me to my parents’ home anytime I ask him to. Given the schedule Elias keeps and the schedule he prefers us to have, I’ve structured my family visits to occur earlier in the day, an easy compromise for everyone except Tomas it seems.