Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
She don't rush.
That's the thing about Savannah when she's like this — she don't rush a single goddamn thing. Her mouth slides down me slow, all the way, until I feel the back of her throat openin' up around me, and then slower still on the way back, tongue workin' underneath the whole drag. Then again. Then again. No performance, no gaggin' for effect, no hands flyin' around like she's tryin' to impress me. Just her mouth and her patience and that steady, devastatin' rhythm she's set.
I watch her. I gotta watch her. Her lashes low against her cheeks, her lips stretched pink around me, a little shine where her spit's runnin' down the shaft and catchin' on my hand in her hair.
My hips wanna move. I don't let 'em.
Her palms are braced on my thighs, fingers splayed wide, grippin' through the denim every time she takes me deep. Not pushin' me back. Holdin' on. Like she's ridin' somethin' and don't plan on gettin' thrown.
And I start picturin' it. Can't help it. Picturin' the end of this — my cock buried in her throat, that warm tight swallow workin' around me, her eyes waterin' up at me while I empty out every last drop. I can feel it already. Feel the way she'd take it. Feel the sound I'd make.
Shut up, Legion, just fuckin' shut up.
Because if I finish in her mouth I don't get the rest. And I want the rest.
I let her go another minute. Maybe two. I lose track. Her mouth is the best thing I've ever felt in my life and I ain't bein' dramatic about it — thirty-two years of women and whiskey and fights and not one single thing has ever felt like Savannah Ashby takin' her time on me in her own bedroom with the afternoon light comin' through the window behind her.
"Baby. Stop."
She don't stop. Just slows down, lookin' up at me like she knows she's got me one breath from breakin'.
I ease her off me with two fingers under her chin. Her mouth makes a soft wet sound when it leaves me and I near lose it right there. Her lips are swollen. Her chin is shinin'. Her tits are still out. She's lookin' up at me like I hung the fuckin' moon.
"Up."
I lift her by the elbows, steady her 'til her knees stop shakin', and walk her backwards to the foot of her big four-poster bed. It's one of them fancy beds I’ve never seen outside of magazines, all carved wood and thick posts and a bench at the bottom that's probably older than both of us combined.
"Bend over."
She does. No question, no hesitation. Just turns, plants her palms flat on the footboard, and folds herself forward, dress still hangin' half off her shoulders. The hem falls long down the back of her thighs.
I push it up.
All the way up, over her hips, and bunch it at her waist. She's got those little white panties on — lace, same scalloped edge as the bra — and I slide 'em down slow, past her ass, down her thighs, leave 'em gathered around her knees.
Christ.
I stand there a second and just look. Run my hand over the curve of her, palm flat across one cheek, then the other. Squeeze. Spread her open with my thumbs just enough to see how wet she already is. She makes a sound — a small one, half a whine — and I feel her knees wanna press together, but the panties won't let her.
I drag one finger down the length of her pussy, slow. Circle her clit once. Come back up.
"Look at you."
Another finger. Slide it in her easy because she's soaked, and I feel her clench around me the second I'm in. I curl. Work her slow. In, out, in, out, findin' that spot inside her that makes her hips jump.
"You gonna come for me, baby?"
She shakes her head. Bites her bottom lip. Holds on.
Oh. Okay.
Alright.
I add a second finger. Pick up the pace. Grind my knuckles against her clit every pass and watch her thighs start to tremble, watch her fingers go white on the footboard. She's breathin' through her teeth now, sharp little pulls of air, and her whole body's shakin' but she won't give it up.
Stubborn fuckin' woman.
"You think you can hold out on me?"
She nods. Barely.
I smile. She can't see it but I smile anyway.
I go harder. Faster. Three fingers now, stretchin' her, the wet sound of it obscene in the quiet room, and I rub her clit in tight circles with my thumb and I don't stop, don't slow, don't let up even when her legs start to give out.
"Legion—"
"Come on, baby. Let it go."
"No—"
"Now."
And she breaks. Her whole body shudders forward against the footboard, her mouth falls open, and the moan that comes out of her ain't quiet, ain't polite, ain't nothin' like the woman who was sippin' lemonade on a porch two hours ago. It's long and low and mine, and she's grindin' back on my hand while it rolls through her, ridin' it out with her forehead pressed to the wood.