Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Let me get rid of this condom, Em,” I whisper against the top of her head. “And I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, right, sorry,” she says, sounding dazed as she rolls onto the sheets beside me.
I dash to the loo, chucking the condom and giving my hands a quick wash, before I’m back beside her, pulling her against me as I flip the duvet atop our rapidly cooling bodies. She curls into my chest and I hold her there, not surprised to find that she fits just right.
“Excellent work,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head.
“Thank you. Not too shabby yourself.”
“No, seriously, that was a banger of a start, Em, but I…” I fake a moment of awkward hesitation before I add, “Well, I think you could scream a little louder, don’t you? Really do your homeland proud?”
She giggles. “I don’t know. That was pretty loud for me, but I’m open to trying again if you are.”
“Oh, I am,” I say. “I really am. I want you under me as soon as I can get Wee Willy Winky down there to cooperate.”
She lifts her head, arching a brow as she purrs, “Darling, there’s nothing wee about your winky. Nothing wee at all.”
“Damn.” I bite my bottom lip. “I like it when you call me darling.”
“Yeah?” she asks, grinning.
I nod. “Yeah. Now try ‘love.’ I think hearing you call me ‘love’ will get my willy winking again in no time.”
“Of course,” she says in that sexy, just been fucked voice that’s already working magic on my cock. “Happy to oblige, love.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s it,” I say, playing it up as I surge up and over her, rolling us across the rumpled sheets.
We laugh and kiss, then laugh some more, then moan and swear and agree it’s past time for round two. And then she’s under me, bucking into my cock, and I’m cursing myself for only carrying two condoms and not stocking any in the apartment.
After all, my friends and family might enjoy a responsible shag from time to time.
God knows I do…
As Emily comes for me again, crying out my name as I rub her clit in slow, determined circles while pumping deep, I’m the happiest I’ve been in ages.
Not just since last January. Since long before my father’s death. Since before I became a business owner, with the fate of a few dozen employees resting on my shoulders. Since before all those bloody abdications during my time at Oxford, which brought our family unexpectedly close to the throne.
As I come buried in her sweetness, I’m nineteen again. Nineteen and carefree, with nothing on my mind except a gorgeous girl and how much I love being naked and in her arms.
Afterward, I finally allow Emily a shower while I whip up some cheddar cream puffs, the only thing in the freezer that’s remotely edible. We eat them on the couch in the darkened living room, while watching the city lights twinkle in a blanket of white.
“This has been so wonderful,” she says with a sigh, leaning her damp head against my shoulder. “Thank you for a fantastic night, Olly. I’ll never forget you.” She yawns. “But I should get some sleep. I need to get up early. I’ll try not to wake you when I go.”
And then, she’s up and off the couch, on her way to the bedroom without me, before I can respond to any piece of that word bomb she just dropped.
Try not to wake me when she goes?
Wake me when she goes?!
No, “we should get breakfast,” no, “let me type my number into your phone,” not even an “I’ll jump on your cock again in the morning, one last time for the road?”
And sure, I was originally thinking a one-night situation would be best too, but now…
Well, now, I just want her screaming my name as many times as possible before she flies back to America.
How can she not want that, too?
How can she be okay with one and done after a night like this?
I have half a mind to ask her, but when I get to the bedroom, she’s already curled under the covers, sleeping like the dead.
It makes sense, I suppose—she’s just off a transatlantic flight, and has been awake for God only knows how long—but still…
I find myself feeling a little miffed.
Hell, more than a little miffed.
I’m flat out pouty. So pouty that I snag her phone off the bedside table and pop back into the kitchen, setting it to silent before sliding it atop the refrigerator.
I push it back far enough to ensure she won’t be reaching it without my help and head to bed, satisfied we’ll have the chance to talk things through in the morning. She’s not about to make a break for it without her phone, no matter how eager she is to put our fantastic night of passion in her rearview.