Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
She hangs two fluffy towels up by the shower and then steps inside. I pause, watching the water slide over her skin, droplets running from her breasts, down her belly, to the cleft of her pussy.
“Come on.” She welcomes me in with a wave of her hand and an inviting smile.
The warm water sluices over my skin too, relaxing tension throughout my muscles that I didn’t know was there. She hands me a bottle of shampoo, and unlike before when we were trying to make a flight, we do have time now. Sleep is the only time restraint we have and not nearly a strong enough enticement for me to miss this opportunity to worship Jayme.
I pour out a healthy amount of the shampoo and then work it into my hands. “Lean back,” I tell her. She looks uncertain but does as I say. I lather the shampoo into suds through her strands, massaging her scalp with strong fingers. “Feel good?”
“Mmhmm,” she moans. Her eyes are closed, but her lips are falling open as she relaxes into my touch.
I help her rinse her hair, then add conditioner with the same attentive detail. While that soaks in, I turn my attention to her body. I find a bottle of body wash and a pouf and use it to wash every inch of her . . . twice. Only when she starts giggling at my work do I stop.
“I don’t think my boobs have ever been this clean,” she teases. “Right arm, boobs, left arm, boobs, belly, boobs, leg, boobs.”
Okay, so maybe I’m a little obsessed, but her breasts are right there in my face with proud little hard nipples begging to be touched. Or licked or sucked, but with the abundance of soap, I went for hands so that I don’t end up blowing soap bubbles later.
“Just making sure they know they’re appreciated,” I tease with a serious face, looking her right in the chest. “I acknowledge you, I appreciate you, you are perfect just the way you are.”
She laughs softly and steps away from me, letting the water wash away my hard work. I use the pouf to make quick work of washing myself, not paying half as much attention to myself because nothing is as attention-grabbing as Jayme’s bare breasts. And then when I’m rinsed, she grabs the towels, handing me one.
I go to dry her off with it, but she laughs and pushes me away. “I got it. You do you so we can curl up naked in my bed.”
That sounds like a fantastic idea, and I start quickly rubbing my skin to dry off. After a moment, she clarifies, “To sleep.”
I throw a playful glare her way. “You play dirty.”
“Sometimes,” she admits. “And another night, you may find out how dirty I can be.”
It’s a little thrill to think about, but when we do finally curl up in her bed, her ass cradling my cock and my arms wrapped around her, exhaustion hits me hard and fast. She was right, we do need to sleep a little bit before the big day.
I don’t want anything to interfere with things going perfectly, least of all a sleep-deprived brain that forgets something basic like my own name. Or worse. Instead, I drift off to sleep, where strange dreams of a sign declaring Welcome to Amerijuanica Land greets me instead of Americana Land, and the festival turns into a smoke-filled fiasco that ends up all over social media.
Nope, definitely can’t have that happening. Luckily, even in my dream, Jayme comes in to save the day, riding in on a hot air balloon with a huge fan that blows away all the smoke as she yells into a megaphone. “Put that shit out and eat a cookie instead!”
I laugh in my dream, but maybe in my sleep too.
CHAPTER 19
JAYME
Saturday arrives full of sunshine and blue skies, promising an amazing backdrop for the festival. I arrive at Americana Land bright and early, ready to work. My outfit for the day definitely isn’t my normal dress of professional business wear, but today, I’m going to need to run here there and everywhere, so jeans, sneakers, and a special staff edition neon-yellow shirt are warranted.
As the driver drops me off at the park gate, he looks at the huge balloon arches being assembled out front and asks, “What’s going on here today?” He reads the big banner stating, Americana Land Freedom Fest and harrumphs. “Attention whoring.”
I don’t let it worry me. He’s not the target demographic by at least four decades. Hell, if he’s irritated by it, that’s a sign we’re on the right path.
If it’s too loud, you’re too old, man!
I laugh to myself at the saying, hoping it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass later when I’m shoving ear plugs in my ears to block the loud music. At the front gate, I add James, the ride operator’s, name to the VIP list as I told him I would and head inside.