Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
I rise up, raising myself up to a half sit—Daisy still sitting on top, using my core—and pull the dress shirt off, over my head. Throw it to the ground.
“Mmm,” she hums in her throat, palms grazing my chest, starting at my pecs. Fingers graze my nipples, both of them at once, plucking gently. “I’ve never actually rubbed my hands all over a chest like this before.”
“You poor thing.”
“You’re so cocky.”
“Do you think so?”
Her head shakes. “Yes, but it’s not unbearable.”
She resumes her appraisal, learning me with her hands. Up to my shoulders, then down again, skimming down my sternum. Stomach. She has to shift her weight to play with my belly button—an innie—her sighs and mews of pleasure match my breathing.
Obviously, my dick is hard.
Of course it is.
It was hard the second she stepped between my legs and told me she loved it when I said ma’am, which I don’t even do on purpose. It’s a Southern thing, but hey—whatever floats her boat.
I close my eyes.
Fold my arms behind my head, clasping my hands.
I know what my biceps look like as I lay here this way, and it has the desired affect—her palms smooth up the sensitive skin of my arms, lightly dragging her fingers up and down my flesh.
I shiver.
Legs still hanging over the edge of the bed, I kick the shoes off my feet, hearing them thud on the floor one at a time. Then without having to lift her, I move us both back onto the mattress so we’re in the middle of the bed.
Daisy remains on top. Leans forward again to kiss me, chaste at first then with tongue, tits pressed against my bare chest.
“Why am I the only one who has to take my top off?” I ask.
“Because you’re the only one wearing a top. Are you trying to get me naked?”
“Possibly?” I hesitate, then add, “Are you trying to get me naked?”
“Possibly.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t we both take our clothes off so neither of us feels guilty for the only one having their shirt off.”
That makes Daisy laugh. “Oh, that’s your idea, hey?”
“Thought it was worth mentionin’.”
“Never hurts to ask.”
“Should I at least take my pants off?” I suggest ’cause I’m so fucking helpful sometimes.
forty-seven
daisy
His face would look better between my legs…
“Should I at least take my pants off?”
I rest on top of Drake, considering his question. Should he take his pants off?
Should he?
It’s a horrible idea for so many reasons, the first one being: if he takes his pants off, there will only be our underwear separating us, and what’s to stop it from escalating quickly?
His pants are like a denim condom.
Ha!
Once they’re off, there’s no telling what will happen.
Actually.
That’s a lie; I knew what I was doing when I invited him in.
I knew I was going to invite him in as soon as he asked me to be his girlfriend tonight at the dinner table. I knew I was going to sleep with him, too, because why the hell not?
Fuck the five-date rule. He’s my boyfriend now.
“Yes, take your pants off.”
He likes that I’m taking control; I can see it in his eyes. They’re crinkled at the edges, smile lines and humorous.
He’s turned on.
I can see it as well as I can feel it. He lifts his entire lower half to shimmy out of his jeans, dragging them down his hips despite the fact that I’m weighing him down.
He lifts his pelvis as if I weigh nothing.
And now. He’s only wearing a pair of crisp white boxer briefs—the kind that hug every last inch of him. He looks like an advertisement on a billboard for underwear.
Thick thighs.
Lean muscle.
Tousled hair.
Crooked smile.
Oh boy…I’m in trouble.
I reach around my back, unzipping Stella’s dress, pulling it down inch by inch. Pushing off the cap sleeves, I let them fall down my biceps but hold the front over my breasts so I can maintain a sense of modesty—at least for the next couple of seconds.
Let him sweat it out.
Let him wait before he sees my tits, the one thing on my body I really love.
As far as boobs go, mine are pretty decent.
I used to hate them. First they were too small, then they were too big. I never felt like they fit my body. Droopy without the right bra, never quite symmetrical.
Stop being self-conscious about your boobs, Daisy.
He isn’t going to care—guys like boobs.
Period point blank.
As I continue straddling him, my hands cup his face as I bring my lips down to meet his. I just can’t keep my lips off his! Drake’s hands roam over my back, pulling me closer as we deepen the kiss.
I can’t get enough of him; his taste and the way he makes me feel.
"You know," I say, tracing circles on his chest with my fingertip, "this wasn't exactly what I had planned for tonight." I wasn’t planning on bringing him home, and I hadn’t planned on seducing him—if this is what we’re calling it.