Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Before I had the chance to rethink it, I returned to the hotel.
I never actually expected Dallas to fall asleep. Not after the day we’d had. But I’d underestimated my wife’s laziness.
Not only was she fast asleep, she was also snoring with a half-finished scone plastered to her chest.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, moved the scone to the nightstand, and tucked locks of her wild hair behind her ears.
Oliver was right.
She was irresistible.
Somehow beautiful, innocent, and spirited at once. As exquisite and thorny as a wild rose.
I didn’t even hesitate before shedding my shoes and pants. In just my briefs, I kneeled between her legs and nudged my nose to her slit through her underwear.
She murmured in her sleep, wiggling her ass a little. A small smile formed on her lips.
I pressed my hot tongue to her center. She gasped. The cotton dampened from both my mouth and her body catching up with my intentions.
Through the thin fabric, I fingered her and sucked on her clit, teasing her.
Her nipples puckered behind her satin top, and her eyes fluttered open.
To my great pleasure, she was still half-asleep, not fully coherent. Perhaps she’d shut up for a change.
With a soft moan, she thrust her pussy in my face. “More.”
I sucked harder on her clit, releasing the pressure. Using both my index and middle fingers, I curled them all the way inside her pussy, straining the flimsy panties and finger-fucking her at the same time.
“Mmm. Good.”
Good?
I hadn’t touched a woman in almost half a decade. Good didn’t cut it.
Shortbread’s thighs quaked, bracketing my ears. Her fingers found my hair, tugging viciously.
I went harder, rougher, latching on to one of her tits through her top and pinching her nipple. Her eyes finally popped open. She blinked at me behind a curtain of innocent lust.
For a second, I thought I could get used to this.
Then I remembered Oliver’s words about her.
An arrow of possessiveness shot through me, triggering a third finger into the mix. I taunted her clit with the tip of my tongue, circling.
She jerked forward, gliding the bud across my nose.
“Fuck!” shouted my beautiful, gently bred Southern wife. “No wonder Daddy didn’t let us date. If I knew it felt this good, I’d have had sex with every guy in my grade.”
I almost choked on her panties. From laughter or outrage, I wasn’t sure.
“Yes. Yes. Like that, but maybe…maybe even faster.”
The childish glee in her voice racketed my pulse.
My heart battered my ribs. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt it working properly. Usually, it did the bare minimum of keeping me alive and not an ounce more.
She writhed and moaned beneath me, clamping her legs around my skull in a death grip, ensuring I didn’t go anywhere. It would take three armies and an entire apocalypse to nudge me away.
Dallas Costa was fine art. I wanted to frame her in this moment and return to the scene whenever the urge to devour her reared its ugly head.
She was so receptive. Brimming with genuine excitement. Nothing about her response to me was premeditated or calculated. She was ruthlessly honest.
Honest when she told me how much she hated me with everything she had.
And honest when I made her fall apart with my tongue and fingers.
Best of all, she was so different from Morgan Lacoste, who only let go and got off on my tongue when drunk, which was universally more frequent than one should be intoxicated.
Ruthless, calculated Morgan cared more about looking good during sex than actually enjoying the act.
“Yes. Yes! I’m coming!”
My little undomesticated pornstar pushed me so hard between her legs, my oxygen levels plummeted. She clenched around my fingers through her panties as an orgasm rolled through her in waves.
The gush of warmth soaked the cotton. I kissed her through the fabric, again and again, knowing tomorrow everything would return to its proper position—my boundaries, my limits, my hang-ups, my demons.
“Can I return the favor?” Dallas sat half up. “But not through your briefs. Men’s briefs always smell like old cheese that’s been sitting in a crockpot for days. I know because whenever my housekeeper went on vacation, we all took turns doing the laundry. And, well, I really shouldn’t say, but Dadd—”
Not wanting the moment to be ruined with a conversation about her father’s underwear, I pulled forward, shutting her smart mouth with a kiss that tasted like her sweet pussy.
At first, she pinched her lips and made a face, unsure what she thought about her own taste.
But when I dragged the tip of my hard cock along her slit through our clothes, she went wild and kissed me back, shoving her tongue so deep down my throat I thought she would fish out my dinner.
“Yes.” She wiggled against me. “Please, sir, may I have some more?”