Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“I’m not sure how you’ll manage all that.” I swipe my thumb over his silken crown, making him groan.
“By fucking them. Coming all over them.” His words pound inside me in the sweetest of percussions, even as I reply. Though what I’m saying is anyone’s guess.
“That’s”—deliciously graphic—“specific,” I finish. I try to hang on to my wits as he unpicks them one by one, his tongue circling my nipples in shiver-inducing circles.
“Can I?” His voice is low and rough. I lick my lips, but before I can answer, he ups the ante a little more. “In the park in your T-shirt and your navy dress in the evening breeze. When I can see the shape of your nipples, it drives me to fucking distraction.”
His words, the picture he paints. I can’t help but see it too. I try to hang on to my plans, but it’s almost an impossibility.
“All I can think about is getting my mouth on them,” he whispers into my ear, “sucking them until they’re glossy and pink. I think of how good you’d look with my cock wedged between your fabulous tits.” Hot breath, hotter words, as his fingers coax and tease, making me leak more than brain fluid.
“Oh, God.” My body jolts. No, it’s not possible. I’m not about to orgasm from a little aural and some boob action! Yet my spine bows from the door as my insides pulse emptily. I roll my lips inward to contain my pleasure when from beyond the door, there comes a rattle of metal coat hangers and a weary-sounding huff.
“Here, John,” a woman mutters. “I found you a forty-inch waist. You might as well take them in with you.”
John’s response is unintelligible, though it’s in the tone of one who is long suffering. Not that I’m paying attention as Oliver covers my mouth with his. He pushes my hand from his cock to wedge his thick thigh between my legs. The door begins to rattle at my back as I burst from my skin. Oh, my good Lord. I am a deviant, I think as I pulse and twist, as I come apart before the backdrop of a mild domestic argument. In a thrift store!
As I sink back into my skin, every inch of me seems to tingle.
“You know how I love you,” Oliver whispers, kissing his way across my jaw.
“When you’re so cruel?” My whine sounds a little hoarse.
“Inspired by it, more like.”
“You play dirty.”
“Says the woman who just got off in a charity shop.”
Urgh. That sounds so bad. I push his body from mine. I’ll show you embarrassment.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I yank his pants to his knees. He chuckles out my name as I slip my hand around his heel and lift. Unbalanced now, he slams his palms against opposite walls to stop himself from falling. “You really are determined to get my pants off, aren’t you, darling?”
“Yep.” I flip off his other shoe and tug his pants clean off. Meanwhile, Oliver can’t seem to do much for laughing. I scramble for my purse then thrust the mystery hanger at him.
His hands clutch the leather to his chest, and he stares at me as though I might’ve lost my mind. “What the—”
“I don’t want to hear another thing from you until you put those on.” Flipping the lock, I push the door open, slip out, and pull it closed before he can answer. As I turn, I realize I didn’t think this through so well.
“Hi!” I give a nervous wave to my audience, the motion brushing air across my bare midriff. “Oh.” Glancing down, I pull the sides of my shirt closed, relieved I’d at least put the girls away. “I like this one so much, I’m gonna wear it right now. It’s nice, right?”
The man standing in his boxer shorts just inside the door of the opposite cubicle closes his mouth, then nods dazedly. The woman pushing another pair of pants at him seems less invested in my babbling as her eyes fall to Oliver’s pants bundled in my hands.
“He needs a different size,” I say. “I’ll just go check the rack.”
“Your rack is perfect,” calls a cheerful Oliver from behind the door. “Kitty can verify!”
When I burst from my skin a second time, the sensation is not so pleasant.
I fasten my shirt, then loiter around the miscellaneous bins as I wait for the henpecked and henpecker to leave. I’m pretty sure Oliver won’t be going anywhere before then. I duck my head as they pass, then happily make my way back.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I whisper, tiptoeing into the men’s dressing rooms for the second time. Before I reach the door, it swings open. An invitation I take, practically jumping into the open space.
Oh the joy! The immense happiness. He’s not leaving but . . . “It looks like you might be!”