Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
She found herself in full addiction of him, reaching for his nature as he slept… stroking his cock, tasting him, slurping his beautifully long dick, working him into yet another erection. She had no sense of time any longer. Perhaps a day or two had passed… neither seemed really sure. They paused for bathroom breaks, naps, and a bit of eating. Talking was to a minimum unless they were declaring their love to one another. She knew that this was what he needed… and she needed it, too. A reunion. A celebration. The coming together of two lovers, two souls who had been unfairly torn apart…
He came in her mouth, his back slightly arching as he clung to a fistful of her hair, forcing her further down the shaft as he shuddered, shooting his gift towards the back of her throat. She left him to sleep, and soon thereafter, she followed suit. When she awoke, the sun was rising. Her pussy was swollen and slightly sore, and all she could do was smile. She looked to her side, but he was not there. Where did he go? She managed to get out of the bed, and then it hit her. The smell of coffee, and something delicious.
She opened her bedroom door, and made her way to her kitchen. There Nikolai stood with only his boxer briefs back on, some smooth jazz playing, and cooking his heart out at the stove. He was frying chicken like it was absolutely no big deal.
“Coffee and chicken?” She crossed her arms as she leaned against the doorframe.
“…And cornbread.” He opened the oven door, revealing his buttery masterpiece. “You’re out of eggs now, by the way.”
“Okay. Well, isn’t this nice.”
“Have a seat.” He pointed to her two-seater in her kitchen. “It’s time for you to get reacclimated to being loved and spoiled, just like I used to do for you before I was sent away…” He paused, and turned to her. “But this time, you don’t have to worry, baby. I’ll rip this world apart before I let anything stand between us. I’m never leaving your side again…and that’s a promise.”
…Several months later
Porsche had had it. Nikolai could tell by the look on her face.
“Was it Kendra?” That was one of Porsche’s good friends from Boston.
“No, my mother. She keeps calling for some reason.” Porsche shoved her phone back in her purse as she stood by his side. The air was crisp and cool, and the smell of candied apples and caramel drizzled popcorn surrounded them. “I told her we were going to a blacksmithing show, so she knows I’m out and about. A little strange for her to keep calling like this, but that’s my mother for you.” She sighed, then smiled.
“Maybe she just wants to make sure you’re havin’ a good time?” He bent down a little and brushed his shoulder against hers, grinning.
“Oh, be quiet. I know what’s going on. You’re just happy because she likes you.”
“You’re damn straight.” He rocked back on his heels, smug as can be.
Porsche shook her head and laughed.
Nikolai enjoyed going to blacksmithing events, so as soon as he’d invited Porsche to attend, she’d jumped at the chance. Three master blacksmiths were showing the tricks of their trade, all using antique forges. The heat and sparks flew as the crowd gathered around, watching the show. Several volunteers came up to give it a try. A few minutes passed, and one of the blacksmiths looked at the standing audience.
“Any more volunteers?” he called out, a thick British accent wrapped around his words. Several hands lifted into the air, waving about. He ignored them. “Hey! You there! The pretty one in purple.” He pointed at Porsche. She looked around as if confused, then smiled.
“Me?” She pointed to herself.
“Yeah! I said pretty, right? It couldn’t be the big bloke next to you. He has the face only a mother could love!” The crowd laughed at Nikolai’s expense.
He took it on the chin, laughed with them, and encouraged her to go over and give it a try. After making her way through the crowd, she listened carefully to the instructions on how to strike. Nikolai stepped a little closer, his phone in hand and took pictures. She started hitting the forge, doing pretty well for a first timer if he said so himself. The sparks flew, and the English blacksmith made a few jokes along the way, keeping everyone entertained.
“Okay, so you didn’t do too shabby, my lady! Let me show you another technique that you may find interesting.” The other two blacksmiths gathered close to the one speaking, and the crowd inched closer, too.
He began to hit hard, and with lightning speed, to an incredible beat. The other two blacksmiths went back to their posts and started swinging at the same time, then, a rhythm started to form—as if they were drumming in sync. A woman dressed in a gothic white and dark purple velvet gown approached, a microphone in her hand. The blacksmiths kept hitting their forges, while fiery embers flew into the air and twinkled about like orange dragonflies. Music from two large speakers began to filter in.