Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Brett, you didn’t win the bet.” My voice gives away my dark need while my head’s slightly spinning. Not sure if it’s the alcohol, or just him.
“I let you win,” he murmurs, biting the inside of my thigh as I look down at him, unable to hold back my smile.
Yesterday might have started off as a nightmare, but it ended up the best day ever. His blue eyes, which are a bright turquoise in the morning light, stare up at me in challenge. That pull, need, grows every day. It’s almost as if it gets stronger with each second.
Hunger.
Power.
It surges through me. I can feel he’s connected to me. This obsession goes both ways.
“You didn’t win. I kicked your ass, along with everyone else’s.” I smile as my hands tighten on the headboard.
“Fuck my face, Alex,” he demands as I slowly lower myself. “That’s my girl, sit on Dean Powers’s face.” He praises me.
And while his hands dig into my hips, I do. Closing my eyes, I let go and rub my pussy hard on his face, fucking him like I need to get to the finish line as if my life depends on it, and at this moment, it might.
“Oh fuck.” I dig my nails into the headboard as I climb, chasing it, aching into his mouth while he holds me still. Coming, not caring that I might be smothering him, unable to think about anything other than this all-consuming pleasure. All I can do is sob out his name as the ecstasy flows through me.
He pulls me up, and I look down at him. His eyes… I shiver. With his face covered in my juices and cum, he says, “Now fuck me, just like that.”
I obey, sliding backward. His turquoise eyes have gone almost black as he watches me take his thick, pulsing cock in my hand and thrust my slick, wet pussy on it.
“Fuck,” he hisses, and I whimper, my nails digging into his chest.
I’m so sensitive, but it feels so good. I raise myself up and let go, slamming down on him again and again.
“Jesus Christ, that’s it. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He grabs my hips and prompts me to rub my clit on him.
“Deep, you feel it?”
I almost scream, How can I not feel you? Your cock is giant-size, but I’m rubbing and pulsing, ready to explode and take him with me.
“Brett…” I whimper. “I’m going to...” And I come, can’t help it. Everything is heightened as I shatter into a million pieces. His fingers pinch my nipples as he goes over, pulsing his own release inside me. I float in this magical world that’s just us and this feeling.
“Fuck.” His voice sounds hoarse.
I collapse on him, my own breath needing his; my lips part to steal it. His hand caresses my back, and I never want to move. If I could, I’d keep him inside me forever.
“I love you,” I whisper into his mouth.
He reaches up to hold the back of my head, almost as if he hasn’t come down from his own high, and he kisses me, his teeth lightly biting my lower lip as he sucks on it for a second, then lifts me off. Together, we groan at the loss.
I smile, lying on my side, watching his chest rise and fall while he catches his breath.
“Brett?”
The room is silent, save for the ocean. He stands and walks to the bathroom. And suddenly I’m cold, like everything that seconds ago felt right, might not be.
“Brett?” This time I sit up, clutching the sheet, because I just told him I love him, and he said nothing.
Horror stains my cheeks. No. This can’t be happening. He can’t seriously think he gets to walk away.
I may not be his age, but I’m not stupid. I know what I feel, and I know he has feelings for me. I mean, what exactly are we doing here? The toilet flushes, and he walks out, saying nothing. I stare at him. And my world that seconds ago seemed magical, dies.
I pull my knees up, clutching the sheet tighter as if that can shield me from this pain. Fuck it, I said my truth. Now he can tell me his. It can’t be worse than this silence.
“Did you hear me?” I’m hating how raspy my voice sounds, like I’m going to cry, but I’d rather die than cry right now.
He stares at me… and that’s all he does.
Time. It’s a tricky thing.
Moments that are powerful, so fucking incredible, all we want is to freeze time, allowing us to cherish them. A desperate need to cheat Father Time so that we can keep that moment with us longer.
Then there’s this…
Awful.
Humiliating.
That sick feeling that can’t be gone fast enough, but it stays, attacking the brain. Like a fucking virus, it spreads, fighting to keep itself alive. Eventually, it wins, because as much as we try to lie to ourselves, it’s there inside us, haunting us day and night.