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)
I work her through it. Slow my fingers down. Let her come down easy.
Then I pull out, wipe my hand on my thigh, and line myself up.
I spread her with my thumbs — gentle now, she's so wet it's runnin' down her leg — and I ease into her an inch at a time, watchin' her take me, watchin' her pussy stretch around me, watchin' her spine arch when I hit deep.
I bottom out and hold there a second. Just breathe. Just feel her around me, every inch of her, that tight warm grip that ain't ever felt like anythin' else.
Then I move.
Hard first. Because I can't help it. Because she's bent over her fancy bed with her dress rucked up around her waist and her panties caught on her knees and she's mine, she's mine, she's mine, and my body's been screamin' that all goddamn day. I grip her hip with one hand and the footboard with the other and I drive into her, fast, deep, the bed creakin' under her palms and her tits swingin' free where the dress fell open.
She makes a sound every time I hit bottom. Short. Sharp. Half a word that never gets finished.
"Fuck, baby— "
I slow down. Not because I'm tired. Because I wanna hear her when she's not gettin' knocked out of her own breath. Long, deep strokes now. Feelin' every inch of her on the way in and every inch on the way out. Her head drops between her arms and she moans low, a different sound now, somethin' that comes from deeper in her chest.
"That's it. That's my girl."
I go slow long enough to feel her start to chase it. Long enough for her hips to start pushin' back on me, greedy, lookin' for more. Then I give it to her hard again and she near collapses forward on the footboard.
Hard. Slow. Hard. I swap it back and forth 'til I don't know which one I'm doin' anymore and she don't either. She's just takin' it. Shakin' and takin' it and sayin' my name in broken pieces against the wood.
Then I pull out.
She whines. Actually whines. Reaches back for me like I took somethin' that belonged to her, and I almost laugh, because it does belong to her. Every fuckin' inch of it.
I spin her around. Grip her by the waist and walk her backwards two steps 'til the backs of her knees hit the mattress, and I push, just enough, and she drops. Falls back on her elbows with her legs hangin' off, panties still tangled around one knee, dress a wreck around her waist.
She looks up at me.
Her hair's half out of whatever she had it in. There's a pink stripe across her cheek where her own hand was pressed against the footboard. Her tits are rose-blotched from my mouth and my beard and bein' played with, and her thighs are already tryin' to fall open 'cause she knows what's comin'.
She inches back up the bed. Slow. Eyes on me the whole time like she's afraid I'll disappear if she blinks. Up on her elbows, scootin' herself across the quilt 'til her head finds the pillows, dress still bunched, the panties finally slidin' off somewhere in the middle of all that.
I watch her go.
Then I get to work.
The cut comes off first. I don't just drop it — never do — I set it on the bench at the foot of her bed, right side up, because the patch on the back means somethin' and she knows it. The shirt goes over my head and lands on the floor. Boots next. I bend and yank the laces loose and kick 'em off one at a time, and I feel her watchin' the whole time, eyes trackin' every move I make like she's memorizin' it.
Jeans last. I undo what's left of the belt, push 'em down my hips, step out. Don't bother with the boxer briefs — they're already pulled down under my cock from earlier. I shove 'em the rest of the way off and straighten up, and she's lookin' at me like she's never seen me naked before, even though she's seen me naked more times than I can count on every hand in this house.
"You done takin' inventory, Miss Ashby?"
She smiles. Soft. "Never."
Fuck me.
I climb up the bed. One knee, then the other, crawlin' up her body slow 'til I'm braced over her, caged around her. I kiss her first. Mouth to mouth, slow, tastin' that coffee-sweet thing again underneath everythin' we just did. Her hands come up to my jaw and she holds me there a second, thumbs along the stubble, lookin' at me in a way that'd kill a better man.
I break the kiss and start movin' down.
Her throat. Collarbone. The hollow between her tits. I stop there long enough to take one nipple in my mouth, suck slow, feel her back come up off the bed. Then the other. Then lower. Her ribs. Her stomach, soft under my mouth. The little dip above her hip bone where the ink lives — that last line of my poem she put on her skin when we were teenagers. I kiss it. Press my mouth flat to it. Linger.