Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“He’s fine.” Eric sounds so exasperated, and it’s kind of funny. It’s kind of cute.
I can’t believe he brought his dad with him just so he could see me again.
“What can I get you?” he asks, resting his hand on my leg.
“Um …” I nod toward the floor. “You can get my shirt for me.”
He glances over his shoulder at my shirt and then turns back to me. “I like your shirt on the floor.”
I shake and shiver with a nervous laugh. “Eric,” I murmur.
“Anna …” He scrapes his teeth along his lower lip while tugging at the sheet, inching it down my chest a little more with each tug until my breasts are exposed, nipples hard and sensitive. With his eyes on me, he ducks his head until his lips are at my nipple. I feel his warm breath on my flesh, and I swallow hard. But he doesn’t move. It’s as if he’s waiting for permission. Breathing is its own challenge; if he thinks I can eke out a single word, he’s crazy.
Instead, I run my fingers through his hair, and that’s all the permission he needs. I almost fall apart when his lips cover my nipple.
When his hand cups my breast.
When his other hand rests high on my leg where the sheet’s fallen to the side.
What are we doing? Where is this going? Does it have anywhere to go? Do we have anywhere to go?
“E-Eric …”
“Hmm?” He hums over my breast.
“I’m … I’m in a boot.”
His gaze lifts to mine. “Do you want me to stop?”
It’s an unfair question for several reasons. I’m in nothing but a flimsy pair of panties. He’s shirtless. I can’t walk without crutches, yet we’re discussing sex. At least, I think that’s implied. And when he asked me if I wanted to stop, the pad of his thumb teased the crotch of my panties.
I gulp with a tiny headshake.
Eric grins, and his tongue teases my nipple again. Then it flicks my navel. I ease back onto my elbows as he brings my good leg to the side to wedge his torso between my spread legs.
“I’m sorry you have anxiety,” he says while his lips ghost along my stomach to my hip, where his fingers curl into the waist of my panties, pulling them down my legs.
“It’s okay …” I whisper despite his hands and lips stealing my voice.
When he can’t move my panties past my boot, he frees them from my good leg and leaves them dangling below my other knee.
I haven’t shaved anywhere in weeks, so I’m conflicted. Should I feel desired knowing that he wants me even with my ungroomed parts? Or should I feel embarrassed?
“Je … sus …” My hips jerk when his tongue slides between my spread legs.
Desired. I’m going with desired.
A hairless body is overrated. Why do women try so hard? I’ve never encountered a man who gives a shit.
Eric’s slow and methodic. He’s deliberate with each stroke, like with every thrust of his lower body into the mattress. My good foot rests on his ass, and every time his glutes squeeze, I come closer to orgasming. I collapse onto my back, twisting side to side, pumping my pelvis against his mouth.
Broken ankle. What broken ankle?
Anxiety. What anxiety?
He crawls up my body. When his lips tease my ear, he whispers, “Can I go further?”
“Y-yes.” I claw his back. The tickle of his chest teasing my nipples makes my legs shake.
With an impatient hand, he shoves down the front of his shorts and briefs and plunges into me like a man who hasn’t had sex in years. I don’t dwell on how long it’s been. I’m not stupid. I know I wasn’t his last sexual encounter.
He groans while his tongue probes the inside of my mouth. My knees draw toward my chest. It’s an indescribable feeling. My doctor should have prescribed sex instead of the pain meds that had me yoyoing between grogginess and uncomfortably irritated.
“You’re goddamn perfection,” he says through labored breaths over my mouth before kissing me again.
Perfection?
So many emotions surge through my body and settle in my chest from that one word. Three years ago, I thought he was almost perfect.
I haven’t felt this level of euphoria in a long time. Endless weeks of pain, anxiety, and depression have plagued me. I yell, “Dear god, yes,” and fall into a limp pile of flesh and bones.
Eric collapses, his body weight pinning me to the mattress while he chuckles with his face buried in my neck. “Dear god, yes …” He repeats my words as if nothing has ever given him such satisfaction.
I grin even though he can’t see it. Should I be embarrassed that I’m so vocal? Maybe. I’m too busy being thankful that Shaun isn’t here. I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye ever again.