Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
She’s utter perfection on all levels, so flawless, my mind couldn’t even conjure up these encounters.
“Off your knees, baby girl. Let me wash you.”
She seems a little shy, coy even, as she stands, blinking water from her eyes as my hands start to roam. She’s soft everywhere, her breasts a perfect handful, nipples peaked with arousal.
I play with her, teasing her over and over, stopping just short of an orgasm. I expect her to get annoyed, to shove my hands away and tell me she’ll just do it herself, but her moans and whimpers only grow each time she’s denied.
“Kit,” she begs, and the sound of my name whispered through her lips makes my cock swell once again.
Maybe I was on to something when I suggested that we just stay wrapped up in each other all day.
“Beg me,” I pant against her lips, warmth from her arousal setting my skin on fire.
“P-please.”
“Don’t pout,” I tell her, nipping at her protruding lip when I once again deny her what she’s needing. “Don’t you want to please me?”
She nods, her eyelids lust-drunk and heavy, hips swiveling against my hand between her legs.
“You do please me, baby.” I press my erection against her. “Your mouth pleases me. Your whimpers please me. This tight pussy pleases me. Such a good fucking girl. Come for me.”
Her neck arches, her eyes closed as her body starts to shake.
I’m a little tempted to pull my hand away, to cut her orgasm in half by stopping and leave her heaving with anger in the shower. She is, after all, killing me inside, but I can’t deny her. Her orgasm is as much for me as it is for her.
I groan, pressing my face into her wet neck as her body clamps around my fingers, the rhythmic pulsing strong enough I can feel it in my balls.
“That’s my girl,” I praise against her skin. “So fucking pretty when you fall apart for me.”
She’s drained when it’s over, her arms too heavy to lift, her body drooping against the shower wall.
“Mmm. I could just curl up in bed after that.”
I press my lips to hers, a quick kiss, as I add shampoo to her hair and knead her scalp.
“Can’t,” I say, urging her head under the water. “We’re going to the farmers’ market.”
“You’re going to the farmers’ market,” she corrects.
“We,” I tell her, reaching for her conditioner.
“I’d rather stay home.”
“You’re always home. You need some vitamin D.”
“I got plenty of vitamin D this morning,” she coos, her hand skating down my stomach to grasp my cock.
“Bad girl,” I say, my cock hating me when I take a step back.
We switch places in the shower after her hair is rinsed, and I soak up her attention as she strokes me while I wash. I’ll never get enough of this woman, but I also have some control over my body. I’m strong enough to not be manipulated into changing my mind.
She doubles her effort, her perfect tits pressed to my chest as she strokes the length of me.
I grunt my orgasm, one no less powerful than the other two she’s given me today, and I watch as a sly smile spreads across her face.
“Won’t work,” I tell her, pressing a smacking kiss to her lips. “Rinse off and get dressed.”
***
“And to think you didn’t even want to come,” I say, smiling in reaction to her smile.
“I haven’t been in so long. I forgot that it’s more than just fruits and vegetables.”
I pull her into my side, my tight smile masking the true elation I feel washing over me when she tucks herself closer with a hand pressed to my chest.
I brush my lips across the top of her head, walking a little taller that we’re out in public together. It’s not the same as it would be if we were wrapped around each other like this in front of my family, but it’s a damn good start. Hope blooms in my chest, warming me from the inside out.
“You’re going to be eating peach ice cream for months,” I say, holding up the canvas bag of peaches in my free hand.
“I don’t see a problem,” she says with a chuckle. “Oh look!”
She pulls away from me as we approach a booth selling a hundred types of pickles.
“Really?” I ask when she turns a jar in my direction. “Pineapple flavored? You’re proving every weird pregnancy craving true right now.”
“It’s one of our best-selling flavor combinations,” the elderly woman explains.
Jules grins like she’s hit the mother lode.
“Don’t expect me to eat any of those,” I say before looking up at the older woman. “No offense.”
“None taken,” she says with an easy smile, her eyes dropping to Jules’s still flat stomach. “When is your baby due?”
“We still have a long way to go,” Jules says, her fingers twitching likes she’s resisting the urge to touch her belly.