Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“I feel you. I see you.” She looks at us. We both watch the way my body slides in and out of hers, the lips of her pussy wrapping around my dick, her clit flaring to life, and her pale skin flushes from me wrapping my hands into her hair. Romy’s belly slightly shifts with the force of my thrusts, raw, primal, and so damn intimate. This is what I missed, her and I together, connected.
“Christ, beautiful. You’re so tight,” I groan. My hands grip her tighter, anchoring her as I pick up the pace. The slow, torturous plunges give way to a harder, more urgent drive. Every time I bury myself inside her, she lets out a broken sob, her head tossing side to side on the cushions.
“Vik. It’s too much,” Romy cries out. Though, she’s arching her hips, managing to meet every single deep plunge, chasing her orgasm, demanding more.
“It’s not enough. It’ll never be fucking enough,” I mutter, leaning forward, swiveling my hips, and pressing a bruising kiss to her shoulder, my teeth grazing her skin as I drive into her over and over again. The slick heat of her pussy is like the vodka I love, wiping out every coherent thought in my brain until there’s only us, the tightness of her body, the knowledge that I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep her, no matter how pissed she is at me.
The tension in the living room coils tighter. I can feel the tremors starting deep inside of her body. The sudden, frantic clenching of the walls of her pussy gives me all the signal I need that she’s right on the edge. Her breathing changes into short, ragged gasps, and her eyes lock on to mine with a beauty I don’t deserve.
“Let go,” I whisper, my own release clawing at the back of my throat, threatening to break. Jesus, my balls are heavy, and since I’ve been using nothing but my fist since she’s been gone, I know it’s going to take me right over the edge.
“I am,” Romy gasps, her cunt locking tightly around my dick. “Vik!” She shatters. A high, sweet cry breaks from her lips as her climax rips through her. Romy’s pussy flutters around me in violent waves that squeeze me too damn hard. Her pleasure breaks me, and with one last deep, unrestrained thrust, I bury myself as far inside as I can go and I let go. My come pours into her pretty pussy as I hold her tightly against the arm of the couch, both of us drowning in our combined release. Damn if I’ll ever leave her pussy again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
romy
It’s later in the morning. The light shadows play against the open blinds. The warm water of the shower we took caused me to become quite drowsy. The silence in the room is easy. Right now, no words need to be said, or neither of us want to say them. What we have to say to the other will more or less cause me to feel entirely too sensitive, have my heart racing and mind completely scrambled.
As it is, I’m currently lying tucked against Vik’s side, my head resting on his muscular, broad shoulder. His arm is warm beneath my neck, holding me in a protective cage. We’re both completely naked, bodies pressed together, skin to skin. It’s incredibly intimate and dangerously complicated. Despite the physical closeness, the emotional wall between us still hasn’t crumbled—it’s just resting.
I don’t feel like moving. I don’t feel like doing anything except to breathe in Vik’s masculine scent. I let my hand wander to where it wants, and he doesn’t stop me from tracing slow, mindless circles over the hard plains of his chest. I follow the line of his sternum, dip around his pec muscle, and let my nails scrape ever so lightly against the dusting of dark hair there. Beneath my palm, his heart is a steady, pulsing thud, a grounding beat that mocks the chaotic beat of my own pulse.
Vik shifts, not pulling away from me. He’s still watchful even without looking down at me. His gaze is fixed somewhere on the ceiling, probably cataloguing every thought running through my head.
“You’re not moving,” he states, breaking the stillness. His voice is a low, grave vibration that resonates through his shoulder I’m resting on. His statement is just that: a statement. This isn’t a question, it’s a demand, absolute and unyielding.
“Alex lied, Vik. I’m not moving. I never was.” I let out a sharp, incredulous huff, rolling my eyes before turning my head to glare at him.
“Then why the boxes in your living room?” He turns his head to look at me, his eyes dark, becoming unreadable, and intensely focusing on me.
“Well, I am going to have to clean out the spare bedroom to make room for the baby. I’m still freelancing. I haven’t quit my clients. I just moved my workflow to homebound work. Afternoon sickness will do that to you, Vik. It makes leaving the house to attend a meeting feel like you’re climbing Mount Si.” My voice is tight, and the moment the words leave my lips, his entire demeanor changes. Every muscle in his arm beneath my head turns to stone. The lazy post-coital bliss vanishes, replaced by a spike of alarm.