Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I moaned, body tensing, getting close.
Siana’s airless whimpers were getting louder as she lost control of herself as she, too, was driven right to that edge.
“Oh, fuck,” I hissed as I came, hearing her moan as she, too, found her release.
I lay there trying to catch my breath afterward, surprised how hard I’d come just from jerking off to thoughts of the shy chick who’d sat across the table from me.
She seemed to come back to her senses much faster than I did.
I knew it because the screen suddenly went black, and her little green light next to her profile picture went red.
The crushing sort of disappointment I felt at that was unexpected.
As I cleaned myself up, I couldn’t help but wonder if that was a one-time thing, or if I could catch her in a needy moment again.
Because, somehow, I needed more of that.
Whatever the hell that was about.
CHAPTER FOUR
Siana
Oh.
My.
God.
I mean… what the hell was that about?
I had rules, for goodness sake.
If I saw your nether regions, you were blocked.
Yes, objectively, I knew that the content I created was for the titillation of strangers. But I somehow managed not to focus on that because what they were sexualizing was not something that I, personally, found sexual.
For me, feet were feet.
But your man business was, obviously, sexual.
And I didn’t want to see it.
Why, then, had I immediately felt my sex tighten the second I watched his camera pan down to show how his cock was straining against the material of his thin sleep pants?
“Ugh,” I grumbled to myself, making Frida look up at me, eyes wide, sure there was some sort of imminent danger lurking around that I sensed, but she could not place as we walked around the corner from the Chinese food place where we’d walked to pick up dinner.
“It’s nothing, baby,” I cooed at her, loosening my shortened hold on her leash, so I could rub her head. “Mommy is just a big, dumb, idiot.”
Objectively, I knew what I was.
Horny.
There was no way around that.
I think that, after long enough of suppressing that urge, you kind of forget about it.
Until something triggers it again.
It was why I’d been steadily avoiding romance books, choosing instead things like thrillers or cozy mysteries, which almost assuredly wouldn’t contain a single sex scene.
Apparently, all it took was one unsolicited dick video to remind me just how much of a libido I did, in fact, have.
To be fair, God, the man had a great cock.
I was no expert on these things. In fact, my actual experience with the opposite sex was, ha, almost embarrassingly lacking thanks to my abysmal social skills.
But, I mean, I think you just knew a good cock when you saw one. And his was that. Long and thick, hard as steel, yet almost silky-looking.
I never had such an intense urge to be able to reach out and feel the slide of someone’s length through my hand, or to work down their body, and take them into my mouth before.
My sex tightened hard in objection to being left out of the fantasy. And as we rode the elevator up to the apartment, I went ahead and let my mind go there, thinking of his weight on me, of his cock pressing against me, then sliding inside, taking me deeper than anyone ever had before.
Frida’s bark had me jerking out of the spicy little scene playing out in front of my very eyes, making me look to see my neighbor, Kylo, standing there, his hand holding the elevator car doors open, and looking at me with drawn-together brows.
“You good?” he asked, his dark gaze moving over me.
“I, ah, yeah,” I said, nodding.
“Sure? You’re… pink,” he said, waving at his own cheeks. “Shit, look at that,” he said, chuckling as the mention of me being flushed only made me blush harder. “That shit’s kinda cute, not gonna lie,” he admitted. “But… you good? You sick? Kid on a tricycle got your nerves all jangled?”
“It’s just, ah, hot,” I said, inwardly wincing at the crappy excuse. I mean, it was Florida. It was always hot. It was hardly a reason for a local to be so flushed.
“Alright,” he said, shrugging. “You, ah, coming out of there or what?” he asked.
“Right. Yeah,” I said, attempting to shake off my awkwardness, and moving out of the car. “Sorry,” I added.
“Darlin’, the fuck you apologizing for?” he asked, taking my place in the car, and I watched as the doors slid closed.
“I know, girl,” I said as Frida whimpered, wanting to get back into the apartment where she could get a nice dental chew while I ate my dinner.
Roaring Friday night we had planned.
All through picking at my food and trying to focus on a documentary about the history of motion pictures—that, objectively, I should have found fascinating—I felt the flush creeping over my skin. Until every inch of me felt overheated.