Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Enzo.”
I looked up, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She got off the bed and came up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her forehead on my back.
“Thank you,” she said.
I put my hands over hers.
The vise tightened around my heart.
I told myself to give Bianca the days she needed to recover without pestering her every day about when we could have sex again. I didn’t want to pressure her, and I didn’t want her to think I was some kind of animal—even though I kind of felt like one around her.
Which was probably why I made it exactly five days after she started the Clomid before I asked her if it had been ten days yet.
“No,” she said, laughing at me. She was propped up on pillows in bed, wearing her glasses, her nose stuck in a book, just like I’d imagined. “It’s only been five.”
“But it’s Friday.”
“So?”
“So usually we do fun things on Friday nights.”
“We did do a fun thing. We made homemade ravioli.”
“Yes, and while that was more fun than I thought it would be, it still does not compare to the kind of fun I am thinking of right now.”
She gave me a look that said not tonight, dear—or maybe not tonight, asshole—and I was forced to accept my sexless Friday night fate.
Sunday night, I risked putting a hand on her leg. “How about now? Has it been ten days yet?”
“Nope. It’s only been seven.”
I rubbed her bare thigh, my dick growing harder by the second. She looked so cute in her little pink tank top and glasses. “Are you sure? Because I really think it’s been at least ten days. Maybe even twenty.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She removed my hand from her leg. “But I’m glad you’re so eager to get back on the job. Your dedication is inspiring.”
I harrumphed loudly and flopped onto my back. “Frankly, these workplace conditions are appalling. I’m suffering from some kind of work-related mental and emotional stress.”
She giggled, set her book and her glasses on the nightstand, and turned onto her side. “How about some workman’s compensation?”
I looked over at her. “What did you have in mind?”
Her hand wandered beneath the sheets and stroked my cock, which jumped at her touch. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
“Are you serious?”
Instead of answering, she tossed the covers back, dragged my boxer briefs off, and knelt between my legs. “Do I look serious?”
“You look fucking hot,” I told her, my stomach muscles tight with anticipation. “And this feels like Christmas morning.”
She gave me a coy smile before dropping her head and running her tongue along the hard length of my shaft, making me groan with pleasure and anticipation.
Then I watched in utter ecstasy and delighted surprise as she went about giving me the best blowjob of my entire life. I don’t even know for sure what it was that made it so damn good—the shock of it being her idea? The way she used her hands? The playful way she licked and stroked and sucked, like she was actually enjoying it as much as I was? The soft sighs and happy moans she gave me, as if my dick was the best thing she’d ever tasted and she couldn’t get enough? The way she took my cock to the back of her throat, so deep she gasped for air? The way she let me fist my hands in her hair and control the pace as I fucked her perfect mouth so hard and quick I came before I wanted to, completely out of control, out of my mind, out of my skin with desire and need and appreciation for her?
I’d never felt like I didn’t deserve an orgasm before, but seeing her lips on my cock as the orgasm thundered through me, then watching her swallow and sit up, drawing the back of her hand across her smiling mouth was nearly enough to make me weep and beg forgiveness.
“Oh my God,” I said, barely able to catch my breath. “That was fucking incredible. Marry me.”
She laughed. “We’re already married.”
“Oh yeah.” I felt like I was having a strange, euphoric out-of-body experience. I was just looking at her—the messy hair, the proud little grin, the swollen lips, the blue eyes, the flushed cheeks—but it felt like I was running as fast as I could, like I was stealing second base, or maybe rounding third and preparing to slide into home in order to beat the throw. My heart was galloping wildly inside my chest, and something like adrenaline surged through my veins. There were things I wanted to say to her, but they were as foreign to me as another language—I didn’t even know where to start.
She sat back on her heels and tilted her head to one side. “So how was that? Good enough to tide you over until Wednesday night?”