Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Ryann tilts her head.
Warm water sprays my back.
I cannot wait to get my mouth on her sweet, hot pussy.
The first lick has her groaning; the second one has her spreading her legs a little wider on my shoulders.
My large hands glide up her smooth legs, down her thighs, press her pussy folds apart so I can suck the orgasm out of her or at least get her as turned on as I am.
“Such a hot, pretty pussy,” I mutter. Don’t think she can hear me, not with her eyes closed and her lips parted. Ryann is out of it, lost in her own world, her own pelvis gyrating slowly, her teeth biting down on her lower lip.
Her lashes flutter.
When our eyes meet, her nostrils flare, Ryann’s hand reaching toward me, settling on my hair.
Fingers rake my scalp.
I moan when her nails dig in.
Fuck yes…
I moan again when she rakes them against my shoulders like a cat, the small sting making my dick rock-hard. I’ve never been one for pain during sex, but for whatever reason, the nerves in my dick tingle, wanting more.
I suck Ryann’s clit like it’s my job, suck it long and with determination, wanting to send her over the edge.
Her tits jiggle with the motion, glistening from the shower water, nipples dark and rosy.
Goddamn, I want to suck on those, too.
I cannot get enough of Ryann Winters.
We have sex in the shower.
We have sex in the bedroom.
We have sex in the kitchen when the twins are both sleeping after I decided at midnight I was still hungry and wanted something to eat.
She yelped when I hoisted her onto the kitchen counter, said it was hard and freezing cold, but as soon as I took her legs and wrapped them around my waist, we were both goners.
“I love it when you fuck me,” she moaned, gripping my ass cheeks.
I love it when you fuck me…love it when you fuck me…
Love.
The word gave me pause, but I shook it off.
Nah, too soon.
I shivered and continued thrusting, fusing my mouth with hers. She tasted like fresh, cut-up strawberries and toothpaste.
Love.
Yeah, definitely too soon.
“God, you’re so big.”
Flattering my ego? Maybe, but I’ll take it.
So hot.
So sexy.
forty-nine
ryann
“Bitch, don’t kill my vibe.”
– Winnie to Sav
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
The voice comes out of nowhere, scaring the bejesus out of me.
I whip my head around to search for the source, and my spine instantaneously goes ramrod straight.
Tiffany.
Ugh.
Of all the times for her to come beelining for me, this is not it. We have to get going, and she is the last person in the free world he wants to see, especially talking to me.
I walk past her, destination Dallas’s truck—not wanting the confrontation I feel may be impending; why else would Tiffany be lurking in the shadows and lumbering toward me from her front porch? She was obviously waiting for me to come outside.
She does not, however, cross into the boys’ yard.
In three seconds, Dallas is going to come bounding out of that front door, I want to tell her. And when he does, you won’t want to be anywhere around…
“Please?” she pleads.
I ignore her.
“Ryann. Please.”
Her familiar use of my name is what gives me pause and has me stopping in the center of the sidewalk.
“This will only take a minute, I swear.”
I’m not a complete asshole and I do have feelings and believe in second chances—not that stopping to talk to her means I’m giving her one, but now that she’s chasing me down, I’m curious to hear what she has to say.
Plus, either Tiffany lacks the self-awareness not to approach me, knowing I have no interest in being friendly, OR she may be genuinely sorry.
I want to know which it is, and I won’t know unless I stop to talk to her.
Right?
Right.
When I hesitate on the sidewalk, she knows I’m willing to talk, stepping forward and making haste across her yard, not stopping until she’s in front of me.
I cross, then uncross my arms, cross them again, finally deciding to stuff my hands into the pockets of my jacket while I wait for her to get to her point.
My eyes stray to the door.
Dallas has it open, freezing when he sees me on the lawn with Tiffany, but he doesn’t come forward after I hold a hand up with an unspoken, I’m good, it’s fine.
Still, he watches from the door like a sentinel, not budging from his perch, eyeing us like a hawk.
“What is it you want to say, Tiffany?”
She hugs her arms across her body defensively. “I want to tell you I’m sorry.”
I tilt my head to the side, not letting my facial expression change for a second.
“Sorry for what?”
My mother used to do this to me when I was younger; I’d apologize for something after I knew she was upset—then she’d ask me to clarify why. She never wanted me to say I was sorry unless I actually meant it and understood what I was apologizing for, which is why I do the same thing to Tiffany.