Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“I’ve never, not once, experienced anything like that. Not even with my six speed, dual vibrating heads vibrator,” I informed him between gasps.
The hand in my hair let go, as did the one at my hip, as he pushed up to his knees. His body stayed connected with mine, and I couldn’t help but look down.
A gasp left me as I got my first good look at his cock.
Or the base of it, anyway.
“You have a wiener tattoo!” I cried. “What is that?”
By leaning forward, I moved my body and forced him to fall completely out of me, and my mouth formed an O as I got a look at the rest of the tattoo.
“Did that hurt?” I asked, touching it with the tip of one finger.
“I was drunk off my ass, pissed off at the world, and ready to prove to everyone that ever wanted to know that my wife wasn’t ever going to lead me around by the dick again,” Aaron sighed. “It’s not my most shining moment. I regretted it in a multitude of ways when I saw it the next morning. Though you’re the first one to see it in all its glory.”
I started to laugh.
“Did they do the tattoo while it was hard?” I asked curiously, running my fingers around the tribal tattoo.
His dick, which had begun to soften, started to harden again.
I licked my lips, causing him to laugh.
“I don’t remember to be honest. I got a man in a motorcycle club to do it, his name was Peek. I have no clue what or how he went about doing it, but he did it. I never asked and he never told.”
“I thought in Texas you weren’t allowed to give tattoos to drunk people?” I asked in confusion. “At least that’s what I’ve always heard.”
“You’re not…technically,” he amended. “But I knew the guy, and he had no clue I was drunk. I’ve always been awesome at holding my liquor. The only way you’d know I was drunk was if a breathalyzer was done on me, or a blood draw.”
I blinked.
“The one and only time I got drunk, it was to cut off every inch of my hair on my twenty-first birthday. As you can see, this is as far as it’s grown back since then.” I indicated my hair. “I also got a piercing.”
“Where?” He started to run his eyes up and down my body.
I grinned.
“It was a tongue ring. I took it out the next morning and let it heal up. It was a scary few days, though. I couldn’t talk right, my mouth was swollen, and I feared I’d have to go to my doctor and explain my idiocy when the hole wouldn’t close. Luckily, everything was all right seeing as I’d done the piercing myself.”
He stared at me in bemusement.
“That is impressive,” he agreed.
“Anyway…did you know the dog’s been watching us this whole time?” I asked him, trying not to look at Tank.
Aaron had no such desire.
He looked over at the dog who was laying on the floor in the corner, his head resting on his paws, eyes directed at us.
“He probably thought it was an awesome show,” he grinned.
I got out of bed and walked to Aaron’s discarded t-shirt.
“I’ll be back,” I told him. “I have to go take care of this.”
“Don’t get anything on my shirt, woman,” he ordered me. “That’s my favorite tee.”
I looked down at it.
It was nothing special. Just a faded black t-shirt with a Rolling Stones tongue logo cracked and peeling in the middle of the chest area.
“What’s so special about it?” I asked him, picking lightly at the soft material before letting it fall back to my body.
It practically swam on me. Literally, it covered me from head to knees.
Then again, that wasn’t hard to do. I was five-foot-one, and Aaron was well over six feet tall. The shirt fit him snugly, and having it swallowing my body only emphasized how very large he actually was.
“That’s the only one my ex-wife didn’t manage to burn…” he hesitated. “Though you can see she did get it a little bit on the edges.”
I lifted the hem of the shirt and looked at it, then stared harder.
He was right. There was a tiny hole in the very bottom right corner of the shirt.
“Why would she burn your clothes?”
“Because she’s a she bitch from hell who liked to torture me as her evil pastime,” he muttered. “Go take care of yourself. I’ll give you a condensed version when you get back.”
I hurried. Not to mention I was very careful not to get anything—body fluid or water alike—on his shirt.
I’d just exited the bathroom—which might I add was practically all the way at the end of the hall, past five bedroom doors—when I ran into something solid.
“Sorry,” a deep male murmured. “Gotta pee.”