Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28386 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28386 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
“God, yes,” he growls, pressing his forehead to mine. “The question is, can I stop kissing your perfect fucking mouth long enough to put it on you.”
“Maybe I won’t kiss you again until they’re on,” I tease him, evading his mouth.
There’s a glint of warning in his eyes. “Don’t deny my tongue the taste of you, Shiloh. Not unless you want to be responsible for a man losing his mind.”
“I won’t,” I whisper, half contrite, half excited. “My taste belongs to you.”
“Damn right it does,” he snarls, nipping at my bottom lip while drawing the lacy, pink undergarment out of his jeans pocket. “So does your hot, young cunt, understand?” Shivering hotly, I nod, holding my breath as he hunkers down, holding the panties open and urging me to step into them, slowly dragging the smooth material up my thighs. “As long as I’m keeping it satisfied, I’ll dress you up any way I want.”
“Yes,” I whisper, every part of me loose and trembling. And the new, confident part of me takes over in a way I don’t question. It just feels natural and right to settle my bottom on the hood of the blue sedan, my dress still rucked up around my hips. “How did you dress me up today, Blaste?” I murmur, arching my back slightly and watching him consume the sight of my peaked breasts, his hand dropping to vigorously stroke the bulge in his jeans. Feeling like I hold the keys to some magical kingdom, I settle my feet on the front fender of the car, slowly spreading my legs, so he can see…everything. The pink strip stretching over my sex, growing soaked and pulling taut. I show him more and more until his chest is heaving as fast as my pulse is racing. “Did you dress me up like a whore?” I ask quietly, pouting.
“No,” he rasps, shaking his head, as if trying to dislodge that notion. “I swore I’d never use those words with you again and I meant it.”
“I know you did,” I say, twisting my fist in the front of his shirt and drawing him into the space above me, close enough to whisper against his mouth. “Just because you won’t ever call me a slut again…doesn’t mean you can’t fuck me like one.”
“God almighty,” he roars, grappling with his zipper. “Are you trying to kill a man?”
“No.” I can’t catch my breath, his hungry, male desperation is sucking the wind out of me. “I just love the way you want me.”
His button comes undone, zipper jerking down, his fist dragging his shaft out into the open, revealing how engorged he is. Thick and wet-tipped and flushed with a shade of purple. “Want you, sugar? I want a new truck. I fucking require this pussy.” He hooks his hands beneath my knees and yanks me to the edge of the hood, creating a squeal of sound. Flesh on metal. It’s somehow so erotic that I moan in response, releasing more moisture between my thighs. And he watches it happen with glittering eyes, taking hold of his manhood and slapping it three, four, five times against my flesh, before ramming home inside of me.
It's such an unexpected invasion that I scream into the palm of his hand…his hand that curves over my mouth just in time, trapping the peal of sound.
“I’ll lick it later, sugar. Right now, it’s one of those times I warned you about.” He rears his hips back and pounds back into me, his eyes rolling into the back of his head like he’s never felt anything so good, so consuming in his life. “You asked for it, didn’t you? Spreading your legs for me and showing me how wet and pretty it is. By God, you begged me for force.”
I bite my lip to keep from screaming and I nod, letting him rut me without mercy on the hood of this unknown car. My butt screeches up and back, up and back, while he pummels me, his forehead growing sweaty in the curve of my neck. Every time I think he’s entering me as hard as he possibly can, I’m proven incorrect, his aggression amplifying.
At the same time, my enjoyment soars.
There’s tension brewing inside of me, slowly drawing all my muscles taut.
So taut until I’m baring my teeth in pain, my sex flexing without my consent, making him groan epithets into my hair, his teeth razing my shoulder with mounting frustration. For some reason, I turn my head and catch the reflection in a passenger side window of this strapping man taking me with frantic drives of his body, my legs open and trembling with the force of each violent pound. I’m at his mercy and my mouth is open in an O of obvious pleasure, eyes knowing. Exultant.
The words slut and whore no longer have any power over me.