Total pages in book: 216
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
He drags back out in a slow stroke and then with aching attention pushes in. The grass under my back is scratchy, but all I can focus on is him. He, too, seems to be concentrating all his attention on the feel of the head of his cock as it presses in and out of my entrance. And the look on his face—it’s not one of conquering like I might have expected after all this time, him finally getting his way.
Damn him, his features are open and awed. Like he’s regarding the whole experience with reverence.
When he opens his eyes and our gazes lock, my sex clenches around him. His cock jumps inside me in response.
No, this is nothing like the first time.
With the hand not propping himself up, he continues to clutch and massage my hip. He only lets go briefly so he can grab my thigh to urge my leg up and around him. I lift it happily, eager to lock my body around his and ground myself in any way possible.
The feelings he elicits from me. Oh God, it’s insane.
Every stroke seems to take me higher. He swivels and grinds his pelvis against my clit, but more than that, especially when he grabs my leg again and lifts it up to his shoulder, he drives in at an angle that has me gasping and my eyes popping open in shock.
That—holy shit—what is that? I’ve never—
He hits the same spot with his next in stroke and I swear, my eyes roll back in my head.
“Don’t— stop,” I whimper. “Never— fucking— stop!”
Whereas before his thrusts had been slow and somewhat measured, now he starts fucking me with abandon. Every time, hitting that spot so deep, deep inside me. Along with the friction at my clit, oh God, I can’t, I can’t—
My fingers claw at the grass. It’s so—
A high-pitched keening noise starts in my throat.
“Xavier, Xavier!” I call out, almost scared by the intensity of everything I’m feeling. It’s too much. All too much. But oh, don’t stop. Never stop. Never, ever, ever stop.
“Eyes,” Xavier calls out. “On me.”
My eyes have been flicking around wildly but I finally focus up on him. The wind whips up, whistling across the ridge. His nostrils flare and his stern face is drawn with strain as he thrusts and thrusts and thrusts.
“Precious,” is all he says and then he leans down, drawing me close to him with his hands slipping underneath my armpits and wrapping around my shoulders from behind. He begins to fuck me like a man possessed.
My orgasm hits on a wild high and continues while he thrusts in and out and in and out. He pushes in and holds it for one long moment while I’m still at the height of my high.
He’s coming. Inside me. We’re coming at the same time. I cry out and tears leak down my cheeks.
I abandon the saddle blanket and wrap my arms around him, clutching him instead.
Never stop. Never let go. Ever.
He pumps inside me several more times.
By the time he pulls away, the devastation at his loss goes so much deeper than the physical separation as he pulls out of me.
Because I know there’s no way out of it now.
I’m going to be absolutely wrecked by this man.
Fifteen
I stop fighting.
I give myself up to it.
To him.
For two weeks, it’s nothing but eating and fucking and taking care of the horses. And then more fucking. Always the fucking. It’s like once we’ve gotten a taste of each other, we can’t stop. When we wake up in bed, in the middle of the night, mid-morning when our initial chores are done.
Anytime, anywhere.
He plays my body like a finely tuned instrument and only he knows the melody.
One morning, when he makes French toast out of thick slices of bread, I’m salivating and attentive at his feet. I lick the syrup off his fingers after he feeds me a bite, tongue teasing as I blink up at him seductively.
He manages to last for a whole half a piece of French toast before hauling me onto the table and fucking my brains out, breakfast forgotten. I mewl like a cat as my orgasm hits, scrabbling at the table for purchase.
He thrusts even more vigorously, riding me through the first and right into a second. Turns out, he has even more energy in the mornings than at the end of the day.
I’m sweaty, satisfied, and breathless when he pulls my jeans back up and returns me to my cushion at his feet. I lay my head on his thigh, still recovering, and he strokes my hair back from my face.
Back in the city I always got it cut promptly each month to keep the bob fresh, but in the month and a half I’ve been here, it’s started growing out. I’m constantly pushing it behind my ears to keep it out of my face.