Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Draw me a picture,” I mutter, threading my fingers through his hair. His head jerks up, and he studies me.
“A what?”
“A picture. Draw me a picture with your tongue. On my clit.”
He gasps. “Goodness, Aspen. Just…goodness. Are you serious?”
“Yes, and I’ll try and guess what it is.”
He finally smiles. It’s the slowest, most adorable smile in the world, and I love how it sneaks up on him. “You’re joking.”
“I am. I’m sorry. Continue doing what you were doing. It was good.”
“Was it? Because I’m open to instruction.”
“It was, but you have no idea how hot it is that you’d say that,” I groan.
When he licks me again, he’s not gentle. I think I already had my warmup, and this time, it’s business. The business end of Rick’s tongue is glorious, just to be clear. I’m not even embarrassed that he eats me loudly. I grip his hair tightly, curl my legs over his shoulders, and keep him there for more and more and more. He’s wild, and I’m every bit as wound up as he is. I imagine him destroying me with his tongue, and then he’s doing it for real with his tongue and fingers, and imagination is something I no longer have to rely on.
“You wanted a picture?” he growls. “I’ll do one better. I’ll spell you a word.”
Holy unicorn balls, is this really happening?
His tongue does sensual, amazing things that make my soul want to leave my body. I’m going to go out of my mind. My hands grip his hair like I can make him write something on my clit just by steering him, but his tongue does its own thing.
Am I supposed to guess what word he’s spelling?
“Squirrel?” I murmur.
“Ha. Good guess.”
“More. Do it again,” I plead.
He does. And I’m so close. So close to leaping out of my skin. So close to riding his face and coming until I flip inside out. So close to laughing at how playfully absurd this is.
“Sasquatch?”
“One more time.”
I pant my way through it. My hips do ungodly things to his face while his tongue does tongue-godly things to my folds, my clit, and my entrance.
“Salmon! It’s salmon!”
“No. But here’s your consolation prize,” he says.
He attacks my clit, and there’s no more spelling and no more holding back. I’m coming so freaking hard that I see rain showers, lightning, and rainbows before I know what’s happening. He holds me down and makes me come until I can’t come anymore. Until I’m panting and hot and wild with it.
Then he stands up, and his hands tear open his jeans. He leans into me, and I wrap my legs around his hips and draw him into me before I’m even done trembling. My whole body needs this. My body needs it when he sticks his hands under my butt and lifts me up, tilting my hips to the perfect angle. His cock is finally at my entrance, and he’s everything I could ever want. I’m way too far gone to have any control left, so I just throw my head back and hang on to him while he fills me. I’m so wet, and he’s so hot and hard inside me. I arch over and over again.
He’s even wilder than I could have imagined. It hurts, and it’s so good. He drives into me, finding that spot, the spot that makes the whole room fuzz in and out of focus like my world has been painted in purple shag carpet.
“Rick. God. Please come,” I beg.
“Not like this.”
“Yes, like this. I’m on the pill. It’s okay.”
“Jesus god, Aspen.” He barely says my name, and he’s going even deeper. Within moments, my world splinters, and I’m gone, but I can still feel him driving into me and shaking and then coming.
After, he freezes while I can barely get my eyes open. I’m scared to see whether he regretted any of this. I’m scared to see if he looks wrecked. Instead, when I do finally open them, he strokes my cheek.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine.” I’m still seeing unicorns and fuzzy carpets, but I’m good. “Are you?”
“I was scared I hurt you.”
“Hurt me? No. No, not like this. It was really good.”
He slowly withdraws and adjusts his clothes. Then he finds mine and has to help me get dressed because I’m still so far gone. Seeing fuzzy carpets isn’t good for coordination. Who knew? I’m kidding. Obviously.
After, he sits down hard on his desk chair, but he pulls me with him. We sit like that, both of us so quiet. I feel like I should say something. “I think you might need to get a job. Just for the fun of it. For the camaraderie and to get out of the house. Or not. Maybe a hobby? Something to keep busy. Something to keep sane.”