Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
She nods and licks her lips, then turns around and puts her palms on the counter. Our eyes meet in the mirror and she says, “So then give me what’s mine.”
I’ve wanted her to look at me this way for so long, and I wasn’t sure she ever would. My whole body is tense with built-up longing for her, our earlier sex only satisfying a small fraction of it.
I line my cock up at her entrance and watch her face in the mirror as I slide in, her lips parting. It’s heaven, getting to watch her expression as I slide in and out of her. To see her tits bouncing.
She’s so tight and wet that I have to go slowly, savoring each thrust into her. Steam is clouding the mirror, but I can still see her face, and the deeper I go, the more she likes it.
I ease her shoulder back until her back is flush against my chest. She moans softly when I tease one of her nipples as I fuck her, sliding my other hand down so my fingers can circle her clit.
She doesn’t have to say a word. I can feel her orgasm coming, her pussy clenching around my cock. It’s fucking amazing to be buried inside her as she comes, trying to stay silent and failing.
She turns her head back and I kiss her, her mouth hungry and sated at the same time.
“Come for me,” she says softly.
Fuck yes.
She bends over and puts her palms on the counter. I put one hand on her hip and another on her shoulder, her pussy so soaked now that my cock makes sounds as I thrust in and out of her.
I fuck her deeper and harder, wishing it could last forever. Her pussy is too sweet for that, though. In just a couple of minutes, she’s milking my cock dry as I hold myself inside her, not letting out the shuddering groan I would if my parents weren’t here.
I get a washcloth from the closet inside the bathroom and wet it with warm water, cleaning her up. She smiles and kisses me.
“We should get out there.”
I grin. “You so obviously just got railed. I love it.”
“Really?”
“Honestly, nothing could make my parents happier. Don’t worry about it.”
She smooths a hand over her hair. “It feels a little weird.”
“Trust me, babe. Stan and Savannah just want their son to be happy. I think my mom’s making her killer bacon and cheddar dip. Are you hungry?”
“I’m starving.”
“Let’s go find some clothes and catch up with my folks.”
I find her a Mammoths T-shirt and a pair of sweats with a tie at the waist, grabbing a T-shirt and sweats for myself. When she walks out of the bathroom, dressed and holding her phone, her expression is crestfallen.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She looks up at me, on the verge of tears. “Monica got the promotion.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Josie
“Honey, this aunt of yours sounds very toxic,” Savannah says, picking up my plate from the table. “Let me get you some more lasagna.”
I shoot Dane a look, already stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey from loading up on his mom’s crackers and dip appetizer and her cheesy, carby, comforting lasagna.
“Mom, she’s full,” he says. “But I’ll take more.”
Savannah looks at me, a line between her brows. “You’ll take a little bit more, won’t you?”
“Sure,” I concede, grateful I’m wearing pants with a stretchy waistband.
She gives me an approving smile and heads back over to the counter.
Stan moves his napkin from his lap to the table, clearing his throat. “She sounds quite unprofessional to me. That news should have been delivered to you by her in a face-to-face conversation.”
“You know, this could be reverse nepotism,” Savannah says as she loads Dane’s plate up with lasagna. “I saw a psychiatrist being interviewed about it a few weeks ago. It was fascinating. It’s where family members treat family who work for them extra harshly to avoid the appearance of special treatment.”
I’ve always thought of my relationship with my aunt as complicated, but I’m not so sure it is. Jane is my father’s sister and she always hated my mom because my mom left my dad when I was little because his drinking had become a problem. We moved far away from him and his family and he drank himself to death a few years after. My mom told me we could go to his funeral if I wanted to, but she was honest with me that his family blamed her for his death and it could be uncomfortable. I chose not to go.
Dane puts a hand on my knee beneath the table, meeting his mom’s gaze as she sets my plate back down in front of me.
“What’s new with you, Mom?” he asks. “Did you find anything when you went shopping today?”
I give him a grateful glance as Savannah excitedly tells him about a vase she bought from a downtown art gallery. Even though I don’t want to talk about not getting the promotion, being in his parents’ company feels as comforting as the food Dane’s mom made for us. They’re parental like my mom was, but also not so parental in ways that make me laugh inwardly.