Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“It’s my fault for letting you go.” I barely hear Derek’s whisper as he pushes himself inside me all the way to the hilt. I can barely stand the sensation as my head is thrown back, and a scream is ripped from my throat. He rubs my clit ruthlessly as my orgasm slowly radiates through my body, as if deliberately torturing me slowly with a pleasure so intense I can’t fight it.
He cums with me, his thick cock pulsing and filling me. His cum spills from my pussy and down my thighs, mixing with the arousal that made it so easy for him to fuck me like that.
It’s because I want him.
That’s why he could take so much from me.
Because I’m so willing to give it to him.
CHAPTER 12
Derek
I run my fingers along the small silver pebbled frame sitting on the edge of my desk. It’s a picture of me and Emma. It’s been a couple of weeks, and Ma ordered me a picture frame. She said jokingly that I should have some evidence I could hold down a girl. I huff a laugh, remembering her jab. She thinks she’s funny.
It’s a good picture of the two of us, too. Emma had it; she kept it from all those years ago.
She took it in my car, lying next to me, holding her hand up as we lay across the back seats. The two of us are smiling. I can’t think of another picture I have where I’m smiling unless it’s forced. Ma used to make us get pictures together. She said it was important. I know she wanted me to get them because she thought she was dying. She wanted me to have a picture of the two of us, so I could remember her when she was gone.
In those pictures with her, I’m not really smiling. I hated getting them done. I only agreed to take them because I knew my ma needed them. I forced each smile for her. But they're not real.
I tap my finger against the edge of the silver picture frame.
Emma never showed me the pictures she took of us. I knew she wasn’t gonna show anyone anyway, so it didn’t matter to me. I didn’t even know why she wanted them herself.
I’m glad she did though. Looking at the happiness in her eyes and the way I’m glancing at her rather than looking at the camera, I remember the way she made me feel back then. It’s stronger now, which surprises me. It’s hard to believe that I can feel more for her today than I did in high school. I guess things haven’t changed much at all. We just picked up right from where we left off.
I think I remember that day, but there were so many of them where we did just that. Lay together in the back of my car, just holding each other and kissing. Some days I let my hands roam along her body.
A few times, she climbed on top of me. That’s the most we ever did, when she’d grind against my hard cock. The first time she did it, I didn’t even realize she was doing it on purpose. It drove me crazy, the slow grinding of her pussy against my dick.
The corners of my lips kick up into a small smile. I’ll never forget that. I’ll never let her forget that either. I made my good girl do bad things. I made her want bad things. I still do.
The days are flying by, but each day she seems to get more and more comfortable in my arms again. It helps that she isn’t around any of the shit I’m doing. I sigh heavily, running my hands through my hair. I don’t know how long I can keep this up. I’m putting off meets to go see her. I’m letting assholes get away with stupid shit, too. Which isn’t a good look. Tony never fails to remind me of that.
Although if Emma saw the shit I’m doing today, she wouldn’t have any concerns. I click on the mouse to get over to my emails again. It’s just paperwork. All day I go through contracts for the businesses in my name. The legit ones. It’s boring shit, but it needs to be done.
Everything is streamlined, but I still have my hand in every piece of the operation.
I didn’t get far by handing off work to other people. The details are what matter. Being present matters. Every day I come to this office. Every problem goes through me. That’s how it should be. I’m the boss, so I have to act the part. Everyone needs to know I’m here.
It’s an important part of being respected. If I’m not doing the work, why would they even give a fuck about me? I could easily be replaced. I can handle the business end of the companies and restaurants I own all day long. But lately I’m falling short on the dealing and supplying end of things