Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
The boutique is all designer jeans—shelves and shelves of them with a few racks of designer tees in the middle of the store.
A young salesperson—the only one in the small shop—bustles over. “Can I help you find the perfect pair of jeans?”
Desiree throws a glance my way.
“Yes,” I answer for her.
“Great, do you mind if I measure you?” The salesperson—who looks nineteen, and very serious about her jeans, whips out a measuring tape.
“Sure.” Desiree pulls off her jacket and lifts her arms to get measured.
The salesperson fires off a series of questions about her preferences as she traipses about the shop, pulling a half dozen pairs of jeans from the shelves. “Let’s start with these. Let me show you to the dressing room.” She looks at me. “Do you want to go back with her?”
Fuck, yeah, I want to go back with her.
I give a solemn nod and palm a hundred dollar bill from my pocket. She leads us back and opens a curtain to a large changing room. Clearly we’re the only ones in the shop, which suits me just fine.
As she leaves, I slip her the money and murmur, “Hundred bucks if you give us some time alone.”
She tucks the money in her pocket. “You got it. Make a mess and you buy it.” She arches a brow.
Cute. She has enough attitude to understudy Desiree.
I head into the dressing room where Desiree is already stripping off her boots, all business. She clearly didn’t catch my exchange with the saleswoman.
I settle in one of the seats to watch the show.
“She didn’t ask me if I wanted you to come back here,” Desiree complains, stripping off her jeans.
“You did,” I tell her. I know it’s true by the confident way she undresses and struts over to pick up a pair of jeans to try on.
My mouth goes dry, dick gets hard as stone as I watch her try on a pair of jeans that hugs her ass.
“What do you think?” She turns around, looking critically in the mirror. Pretending she doesn’t know she looks like a million bucks.
“We’ll take them,” I say, voice rough.
Her nipples get hard when she hears the desire in my voice and she shoots me a seductive look from under her lashes.
Beautiful woman.
She tries on another pair of jeans. They are equally magnificent. The third pair doesn’t fit right. When she pulls them off, I get up from my seat, advancing with the stalking quality of a predator.
She goes still, watching me. Waiting for it.
I grasp her waist. “Get up there.” I help her climb up to stand on the bench against the long wall of the dressing room.
“What are you doing?” She sounds breathless.
I push her ass back until it hits the wall, then pull the gusset of her panties aside, lower my head and taste her.
She jerks and cries out. I reach up and cover her mouth with one hand and yank her panties down and off with the other. She bucks her hips, gripping my arm for stability. Her open lips press against my palm, warm and soft.
I open her labia with my thumb and forefinger and trace around the inside, laving her clit, diddling it with the tip of my tongue, suctioning my lips over it and sucking.
She bites at my hand, moaning against it, her hot breath turning wet and steamy as she writhes under my tongue.
I don’t stop torturing her. I lick and flick and work her swollen clit. I penetrate her with my stiffened tongue. She grips me by the hair and yanks me against her, pushing her sopping folds into my mouth. I shove two fingers inside her and she screams against my hand, which I clamp around her jaw even tighter. I’m being rough, but I know she likes it. Her body responds to me every fucking time, like it was made for me.
And right now, I’m going to make sure she comes faster than a freight train. Because she needs the release.
And damn, if I don’t want to be the guy who gives it to her.
Every.
Fucking.
Time.
I curl my fingers inside her, trying to find her G-spot.
Bingo!
Her knees buckle and she cries out against my palm, pelvis jerking uncontrollably. I pump my fingers in and out. When I flick my tongue against her clit at the same time, she sobs and tears at my hair with one hand, her other hand grabbing my wrist to shove my fingers deeper. Her nails dig into my skin.
I pump a few times more to show her who’s in control, then shove deep and give her a break long enough for her to come.
The moment I stop thrusting, she shudders and releases, her inner walls tightening around my fingers. She rises up on her tiptoes, squeezes her inner thighs together around my wrist. I keep lapping at her clit through her entire climax until she stumbles forward, and I have to catch her waist to keep her from falling. I slide my fingers out and help her down. I turn to sit on the bench and pull her onto my lap, palming her still pulsing pussy.