Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Thank god for plas-film or I’d probably have a puddle on my couch. As it is, I’m definitely going to have to flip the cushions.
I clutch him close as he collapses over me, feeling sweaty and delicious. “God, I needed that.”
He groans, reaching up to caress the side of my head, and when his tail slides against my leg, it’s an affectionate caress. “I needed that as well.”
“Long time for you too, huh?”
“No. I’m just now realizing my last partner probably never came.” He huffs, burying his face against the top of my head. “Keffing embarrassing.”
“Oh?” I rub his back, trying to offer a bit of comfort.
“Yeah, the feel of your cunt tightening around me when you came? That was a revelation. It made me realize I’d never felt that before.” Hrrrusek manages a chuckle. “So thank you, for making me realize I’m a keffing shitty lover.”
I pat him. “Not shitty. You’re very trainable. And I have zero complaints.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m glad you said something.”
I’m glad I did, too. A lot of men don’t like to be told their technique needs work, but as far as I’m concerned, if he’s eager to learn, I’m happy to show him all the ways he can get me off. I tug at his tunic, trying to loosen it, because I want to touch him everywhere, and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s got his trou mid-thigh. He’s bare-assed and cock-deep inside me and we were too distracted to undress.
Well, that needs to be fixed, and soon. “Wanna migrate over to the bed? We can undress and take our time for round two.”
Hrrrusek gives me an eager look. “You think any male in his right mind would say no to that?”
I don’t, actually.
Six
HRRRUSEK
An alarm sounds, and I wake up the next morning with a strand of Chelsea’s hair in my mouth and my hand clamped around one of her large teats. Her body is pressed against mine, her backside cradled against my erect cock, and her bedroom smells like sex and sweat.
It was a keffing fantastic night. I lean in to kiss my female’s shoulder, teasing her nipple. “Morning.”
Chelsea slithers out of my grasp, moving to turn off the alarm. “Come on. We need to shower quickly and head out before the sun rises. That’s the best time for the fish to bite.”
I roll backward on the bed and groan, because I’m not thinking about fish right now. “Or you could come over here and take a seat.” I pat my hip, indicating my hard cock. “And you could ride me instead.”
“Fishiiiiing,” she sings out, heading for the lavatory.
I groan again, because apparently Chelsea is a morning person and I am not. She is in and out of the shower before I even make it out of the bed, and puts on hot tea while I take my turn under the water. As she moved in and out of the bedroom, I saw the scars decorating her body in the morning light. They cover her arms and legs. They cover her back and a great deal of her stomach. She has a burn mark next to one nipple that looks keffing awful. I have a few scars from work accidents, but nothing compared to what she’s been through.
All of hers look like they were inflicted to cause pain, and all of them look poorly healed. I think about what she said to me yesterday. About how she’d lived through some horrible things and now she no longer lived in fear. I didn’t understand it then, but seeing the scars decorating her body? I understand it a little more. She’s choosing not to be afraid any longer, even if it has consequences. How can I be mad at that?
If anything, I’m humbled that she trusts me enough to invite me into her bed.
“Are you coming or not?” Chelsea calls out as I wander out of the shower, rubbing down my thick mane. “I’ve got breakfast packed and some hot tea in an insulated container. I’ve got worms and our fishing poles. I’m just waiting on your slow ass.”
I lower the towel, glaring at her. “My ass is not slow.”
“It is today,” she says cheerfully. “I must have worn you out last night.”
That brings a smile back to my face. “You gave it your best try, but I’ve got more in the tank.”
“Then prove it and get moving,” she urges. “The fishing’s no good when the sun is high.”
I get dressed in my wrinkled uniform, amused at her complaining, and then we set out. To my surprise, we don’t take the air-sled. Instead, she hands me a box with a handle, a backpack to sling over one shoulder, and sets the fishing rods on her shoulder. She holds her hand out, and when I slip mine into hers, we start walking to the stream.