Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 111038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Christ.
Her shorts.
My chick was wearing a bikini top and shredded jean shorts—and those shorts were hardly there. They were more decorative so she didn’t get arrested for public indecency. All the girls at this party were like that. Bikinis, and anything else they wore was painted on their bodies. The old school way of thought might’ve labeled them sluts or whores, but since we were all liberal and progressive, we went with sexually healthy appetites.
I, currently, was enjoying my girl’s appetite.
She opened her mouth wider, angled her head to the other side, and oooh yeah—I was in at a whole different depth now. Fuck it. I took hold of her hair and started moving. She moaned, but only widened her jaw and spread her knees a little more apart. She was bracing herself.
Fuuuuck yeah.
That meant I could go a little harder, which I did. I shoved her down a bit more, a better angle, and right there. I loved when they let me take over. But then I looked back up to watch Voyeur Girl. My friends and I did not hang out with girls like my voyeur. My dick got harder. I almost cursed, gritting my teeth. I had not expected that reaction, but I’d take it.
The girl watching wore a buttoned-up maroon shirt, the ends tied at her waist. She had a good rack. The shirt was bunched up to hide ’em, but I saw her girls. They would be a decent handful, almost perfect. And she wasn’t wearing a bra. There was enough of a tease between the buttons that I could see just skin, just tits.
The rest of her… I had no words.
Khaki shorts that ended mid-thigh, and what a fucking thigh she had.
This girl could model.
Long. Lean. Legs meant to wrap around your waist—I thrust a little harder, and my girl groaned around me. I needed to ease up, but I was almost gone. Almost. Not quite.
Then Mara reached up and massaged my boys. That was enough.
I unloaded into her.
She swallowed like a champ and smiled up at me. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and for a second, the weird chick was forgotten. I grinned at Mara. I always liked Mara’s blowjobs, and because I wasn’t an asshole, I tugged her up and moved her farther behind the trees so she was hidden from view.
Now was my turn to make her feel good.
Kissing her, I slid my hand inside her shorts and inside her, and when she was done and moaning, I looked over my shoulder. The other girl was still there, still glued to her tree, her eyes still right on us, but this time, she saw me.
Her eyes bulged out, and she inhaled sharply. She jerked back, and I grinned, lifting my hand to my mouth. I tasted Mara on my fingers as I watched her. Then I winked.
She uttered a muffled scream.
Chuckling, I grabbed Mara as she tensed in my arms.
Her head snapped around. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” I kept her tight to my side as she fixed her pants. “Come on. Let’s go back to the party.”
As we left, I glanced back.
The girl was gone.
2
Blaise
“Dude! Soccer superstar!”
I grimaced. I wasn’t known here for soccer and a part of me was hoping to keep that on the down low, for now. Zeke welcomed us back into the house with a toga half draped over him, a drinking helmet on his head—both straws hanging down by the sides of his face—and nothing else. Wait, he had flip-flops on.
Mara giggled and disappeared into a side room as I kept going. She touched my back as she went. I knew Mara. This wasn’t our first run around together. She’d stick with the girls for the rest of the night, but if I wanted her later, I just needed to give her the nod. She wasn’t like other girls. Mara didn’t make demands to be more than a hook-up. That’s why we’d worked so far, but that chick…
Who was that chick?
I shook my head. “You forgot your pants.”
Zeke grinned, swaying on his feet. He didn’t say anything more about soccer and glancing around the room, no one seemed to be paying attention. The usual group surrounded him—Brian and Branston, brothers, who tended to wade into any stupid fucking fight Zeke liked to pick. I didn’t really mind his friends, but they were his friends. Zeke was mine. That was about the best way to describe my ‘friends’ since coming to FCA.
Best friend.
He and I threw that phrase around, but it wasn’t always accurate. Some days I loved my best friend. But I won’t lie. Some days I couldn’t stand the guy. And he also loved me more than I ever did him. He liked to use that word a lot too. He meant it in a fierce, bromance sort of way. His feelings for me had grown while I’d been gone, living in New York. I had buds out there, a few good ones—and right now, as Zeke’s dick flapped in the wind and two girls giggled beside him—I missed my East Coast friends more than I wanted to admit. One or both of those girls had already knelt before Zeke this evening, and I was sure the three of them would end up together later tonight.