Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
It’s not every day. Sometimes I go for months without it. I do what feels right. It’s how I’ve learned to love myself despite what other people think.
“I admire that about you,” he says outright. I almost think I hear him wrong, or it was a slip up. That he was just thinking it in his head. But he keeps going. “You do things that make you happy. That’s hard for some people.”
“Is it hard for you?” I wonder.
He stares into me like he’s thinking about something in particular. “Sometimes.”
I’m about to ask for more details, but his hands rise back to my soft hips. “Jane.” He looks at me with a level of seriousness that steals my breath. “I love your stretch marks.”
He says as plainly and definitively as he said I love your breasts earlier.
I smile.
“I love your lips,” I tell him. “They are quite soft and kissable.”
Light reaches his eyes. “I love your freckles.”
“I love your ears.” They’re prominent when he tucks his hair behind them. They frame his face very well.
He leans in closer, our mouths a breath apart. “I love your thighs.” His hands dip down between them. His lips on mine. Our tongues caress in a frenzied, hot kiss.
I only part to breath out, “I love your throat.”
He’s a heartbeat away from a laugh.
“It’s very…” I run a finger down his Adam’s apple, sending chills down my own arms. “I love it.”
He nods like he’s taking in this fact. “Well, I love your armpits.” He lifts me up under them and sets me on the ground. We continue complimenting each other. Loving different things. Clothes are shed until I’m disrobed and bare and his pants are in a heap on the ground.
We’re breath and limbs and I’ve found myself straddling him on the bathroom floor. His shoulders rest against the glass of the closed shower door.
Breathless and panting, I’m in between a kiss, when he whispers against my ear, “Christ, you’re beautiful.”
Those words sting my eyes for a second.
I usually don’t need to hear those words to feel them. Especially from a man. But sometimes, it’s so very nice to have it reaffirmed. It feels so wonderfully good to be called beautiful. Especially from him.
I return the kiss deeper and harder and then break away to reach for the condom package on the ground. He grabs the bottle of lube as I rip open the foil.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” I whisper. “You’ve had fingers or other things in your ass before? I wasn’t your first?” He seems to be far too comfortable letting me back there. Unfortunately for someone who likes butts, like me, not many guys are.
He leans up to put a kiss on my lips and take the condom from me. “Fingers, yeah.” He rolls the condom on his length. “Other things, yeah.” He rubs lube along his erection and then holds out the bottle to me. Our eyes catch. I’m a little frozen.
“Other things,” I repeat.
“Toys, very small,” he says. “Here.” He rubs lube on my fingers and then reaches for a towel so he can dry his off. Just so he can clutch the back of my head without getting it in my hair.
My brain is spinning with excitement and possibilities. “Do you have a prostate massager with you?” I ask.
“In my bedroom. Another night.” He kisses outside my lips. “Was I your first? I couldn’t tell.”
“You couldn’t?” I frown.
He shakes his head. “You’re good with your fingers, but you were really curious.” He looks me up and down, taking in my reaction. “I wasn’t your first, then.”
I nod and then his own fingers slide up between my legs. To check to see how aroused I am. He does that a lot. I realize because he’s so big that he really doesn’t want to hurt me. He’s very well attuned to his body.
And he’s been adeptly learning mine.
Our mouths meet again, and while we kiss, he slowly slides himself into me. His lips are beside my ear. “Remember go slow at first.”
I learned that the hard way the first time I was on top with him. Overeager, I tried to take him completely in me way too fast, and he bottomed out. There was more pain than pleasure, and he spent most of the night concerned and going so slow it was like riding a torturous edge.
My knees dig into the fuzzy bath rug, and Thatcher grips the bottoms of my thighs as I start to move up and down on him. Everything throbs and aches for more and more and more. Like I’m finding the right switch on my body.
I move a little faster.
“Jane. Fuck,” he says almost under his breath. Still trying to be quiet.
He stifles a deeper groan, so much so, that I can feel the noise rumble through his body. Up against mine.