Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
He isn’t like a couple of other guys in town who wear a shirt two sizes too small, walking around with their stomachs sucked in. He doesn’t have to pretend to be fit. The man is a work of art, and I let my hands wander all over as I lick the head of his cock. I trace the muscles of his stomach, let my hands roam over his tight ass. His thighs get a little attention, a trail of my fingertips, before I cup his balls in my palm, using my other hand to shift his cock to the side so I can pay them even more attention with my mouth.
His fingers tangle in my hair, making me moan. I love the command this guy has in such a small touch. He’s assertive without being an asshole. He’s quick to praise me, yet he’s just as fast to tell me what he wants if I read something wrong.
Faster.
Harder.
Spread for me, sweetheart.
Jesus, the way your pussy takes my cock.
All things he said to me last night. Even thinking of them now makes me want to slip a hand between my legs.
I resist, wanting to use all of my focus on him. I’m sure the guy has had good blowjobs before, but I need this to be the best he’s ever had. I need him to be willing to at least listen to my proposition. Despite what most men will argue, they are a lot more pliant and easier to convince with empty balls.
With one hand wrapped close to the base of his dick, I pull him back into my mouth, my jaw already aching with the effort. The soreness between my legs pulses, my need growing despite the mild discomfort I’m feeling.
“Open,” he growls, his fingers closing around a handful of my damp hair.
I lock eyes with him as he strokes down his length. His mouth is slightly open, his breathing erratic and loud in the small shower.
“Fuck,” he grunts, just as the first rope of cum stripes across my tongue.
This man turns me on like no man I’ve ever met before, but that doesn’t suddenly make my dislike for the taste of cum change. What makes me swallow proudly is the look of approval in his eyes when he watches my mouth close and my throat work.
“That’s fucking perfect,” he says. The praise lands right in the center of me, in a way that makes everything so much more dangerous than it was before I came into the bathroom to talk some reason into him.
I don’t get much admiration in town, and compliments have always been few and far between. Hell, even my own brother, tired of my antics and ready to be rid of me any way possible, was quick to marry me to a man with no questions asked last night. That’s what makes Derrick’s reverence so damn dangerous. Add to it that he doesn’t look like he’s doing it to manipulate me, and he might as well get used to seeing my face. I’m at the point of being like a stray someone made the mistake of feeding. Even kicking me at this point probably wouldn’t get me to leave his side.
“Up,” he says, his hand wrapping around my forearm as he urges me to stand. “That perfect mouth of yours,” he says, right before his lips press against mine. I hiss in shock when he swipes his tongue over mine, unconcerned of the traces of himself still there.
That makes me want to ask him to coat my tongue every damn day. I can’t recall a single guy who ever wanted to kiss me after I sucked him off. I never liked the taste of cum, so it was understandable.
Derrick groans into my mouth when I step in close and wrap my arms around him, his cock still at half-mast, telling me it might not take much to get him completely hard again. We ran out of condoms before falling asleep, and, even married to this man, I don’t know that I’ll take that risk with him. Getting lost in a fantasy that may last a few days is a lot different from finding out three weeks after he leaves town that he left more than wrinkled bed sheets behind.
Besides, I grow just as bored and weary of the guys I meet as they do me. Despite what others think in town, I don’t pine after all the guys I let my mind convince me that I really cared for. Usually, a nap and about three days is all it takes for the fog to clear and for reason to be much more attainable.
“Hands on the wall,” he commands, turning me around, before lining his body full up against my back.
His skin is still somehow warmer than the water flowing over us.