Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
I can respect a belief like that. But I still ain’t going to let her go. Not when she’s likely to end up dead.
And not when that would kill me, too. She’s filled up this hole inside me with so much sweetness, so much softness. But if that was gone? I suspect that her dying would tear open a hole in me that would rip out even more than Crash did.
And I don’t even know her fucking name.
I wash up and head back out to find her sitting on the bed, the comforter still tucked around her breasts, and trying out numbers on the key lock box.
“There’s only ten thousand possible combinations,” she says with a cheeky glance in my direction. “And I’ve got nothing but time.”
“You’ve got a pussy that needs to be fucked,” I tell her roughly, my chest pulling even tighter. Because this damn girl. She doesn’t even have to touch me, doesn’t have to kiss me. She just keeps on being so sweet and keeps fighting so hard, keeps on giving everything to me. “Hands and knees.”
She must be gearing up for a hell of a fight. Because she just throws me another sassy look and rolls over onto her belly, lifting her pretty ass up in the air—her elbows braced on the mattress and her fingers still working that lock box combination, the numbers clicking rhythmically, steadily.
Christ, she gets me worked up. Stroking my stiff cock, I move in behind her. “What number you up to?”
“Eighty-seven.”
“Tell me when you get to one hundred.”
“I wi—”
Her gasp fills out the rest when I bury my face between her legs, the rhythm of that clicking coming to an abrupt halt. Then starting again, though so much more slowly when I spread her pussy lips and take a long lick through all that delicious heat, then groan and rub my face up in there before giving those sultry lips a deep kiss. She tastes so fucking good, but even better is how wet she gets, how it takes only a few thrusts of my tongue into her tight little hole before she’s rocking back and demanding more.
I pull back with the scent and taste of her all over me. “What number you at?”
“Ninety…three,” she pants.
Slowed way down. She ain’t ever going to get to one hundred. Not after I open my mouth up over her clit and begin sucking. The muffled cry from up front tells me that she’s got her face buried against the pillow, probably biting the shit out of it. Not playing with that lock anymore.
Stiffening the tip of my tongue, I tease her juicy clit until her legs start shaking. With a final lick the length of her drenched slit, I rise up behind her rounded little ass, my aching cock in hand.
One hard thrust buries me balls-deep in the sweetest, tightest heaven. She screams her fuck-me-hard scream, fingers clenching in the sheets, already wound up so good that a few rough pumps send her over and catapult me into the paradise of her convulsing cunt that is too incredible to be real. My girl’s got a hair trigger, which is fucking amazing on its own, but the way she throws herself into her come, writhing and twisting like she’s wringing every bit of pleasure out of herself, inside and out, is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen or felt.
I need to feel it again. Over and over. Her orgasm slowly releases its hold on her cunt, but I just hold onto her tighter, leaning over her trembling form with my cock still buried deep. Because the ache that was eating up my chest vanished the moment I got my mouth on her. All that sweetness just keeps filling me up—and will leave me with nothing if it’s gone.
So I am never letting her go.
* * *
The afternoon sun turns her hair to copper and lights up her smile so bright. We’re about five minutes into our walk by the stream when she whirls and races toward the driveway. Only a little more than a mile from the main road. My heart jackhammers and I sprint after her, and I’m a half second from tackling her to the ground when I realize there ain’t no need for that. And she has to know it. She watched me run five miles on the regular.
So I settle in beside her, instead, and go for a little jog. A hundred yards later, she gets to the clubhouse lot and slows to a halt, bending over and gripping her side. Those doubled-up socks protecting her little feet are filthy and loose now.
“I’m…three months…out of shape,” she wheezes.
I stop beside her, breathing easy. “I’d say you’ve had plenty of exercise this past—”
She takes off sprinting again. This fucking girl. I’d be laughing my head off if my chest didn’t hurt so damn much.