Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
My hips buck, the cum spilling from my cock and shooting along her mouth.
It’s the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.
“My cum’s dripping down your chin.” My tone is gruff, raw.
She nods, her breaths labored, eyes proud, and then she drags her middle finger along her skin, the gleam beaming off the light in the room, but that’s not what has the after wave spitting from the tip of my dick.
That happens when she swipes it along her tongue, tasting me.
A curious expression crosses her face, and then she closes her mouth around her fingers, sucking off every last bit.
“It’s… salty.” Her cheeks pinken. “Sort of sweet.”
“And my baby loves sweets,” I rush out, yanking her to me and kissing the shit out of her.
I drop back as her arms tangle around my neck, locking and tugging me closer and closer, but there is no closer to be spoken of. She’s fused to me, our lips smashed together so hard, our teeth click, but we don’t stop.
I kiss her and kiss her, at some point, burying us beneath the covers, where I kiss her some more.
I’m not sure how or when we stopped, how late we were up or what had us falling asleep.
All I know is I want to do it all again.
This girl might not be mine forever, but she is for now.
And I plan to take full advantage of that.
Might have to look into those chains I talked about…
Chapter Twenty-Five
Davis
I don’t know what supreme being I need to kneel before but send them my way, and I’ll kiss the man—or woman’s—feet.
Why, might one ask?
Because Crew Taylor is quite literally… possessed.
Obsessed.
Repressed?
Maybe. We’re not having sex, and I know he’s not out getting it anywhere else, but he is getting something. And that something is coming from me.
My first go at going down must have been more than decent as the man refuses to take his eyes off me. Hell, he can hardly take his hands off, so he makes sure I’m always at his side.
Last night, for example, Crew had to get back to work… so he took me with him, parked me in the seat behind the bar and kept one eye on me, the other on the customers across from it.
A couple hours in, he dragged us up the stairs and into the hall leading to the office, then pushed me against the wall and worked me at warp speed.
“A course on quick release,” he called it, speaking my language with a smirk.
I love the switch that flipped, but it’s dangerous for me as I too am addicted.
To his touch.
To his kiss.
To him.
I’ve slept in his bed nearly every night since we came home from the festival, felt his skin on mine more times than I can count, be it his legs, his hands, his lips.
Twelve-year-old me would die to know we made it this far.
Will twenty-two-year-old me have to mourn this man?
Only time will tell.
But, right now, we have more, so until the end rears its ugly head, I’ll soak up his attention, even if it drowns me in the process.
Crew flips his hat backward, so he can better see the biscuits he’s checking on in the oven.
Yeah, worth the looming loss.
He looks up, catching me watching, and the smile he gives me reaches deep, stirring emotions I’ve worked hard to keep in check. To keep buried.
This man is making it difficult to hide the way he makes me feel, the things he makes me want, and the hope I dare to think we could have.
He walks over then, Neosporin, alcohol bottle, and gauze in hand, dropping to his knees in front of me.
Without a word, he takes my hand in his, gently dabbing at the area below my thumb, taking special care as you would something precious. You wouldn’t even know I was cut if it weren’t for the three little stitches there, but Crew ignores me every time I tell him it needs no attention.
It’s kind of adorable, how a growly, possessive man like him is capable of such a gentle touch.
Spreading the Neosporin over the split, he looks to me, and before I realize it, I’m already leaning forward, my lips meeting his. His smirk is instant and I feel it along my mouth.
My phone rings, and I fully plan to ignore it, but Crew snags it from my side, accepting the call before we’re fully untangled.
“You there, honey?” my dad’s voice calls.
My mouth gapes, and I slap at Crew’s chest.
He grins, his eyes flashing my way briefly as he tilts the phone toward him. “How you doing, Mr. Franco?”
“Come on now, son. Just ’cause you don’t come home no more, don’t mean I’m mister again.”
A flash of guilt threatens to wash Crew’s smile away, but he holds it in place for my father’s sake. There’s a lot of love between them, even if the last handful of years have fractured it a bit.