Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
"The twin bed," I say.
She laughs. "I always wanted to do it in your room."
"We have."
"Not this."
"We'll have to be fast, unless you want Bri to hear," I say.
She shakes her head. "He'll talk to Luci for a while."
"Is there something I should know?"
"Probably," she says. "But I'm sworn to secrecy." She offers her hand. When I take it, she leads me through the party, the living room, the backyard. Past the pool at her place, into the side yard connecting our childhood homes, the trampoline my dad bought a million years ago, the sliding glass door.
All the way to my teenage bedroom.
She flips the switch and takes in the room. "Gorgeous." She points to the Taylor Swift poster she bought me as a dare. Then the other dozen pop art posters she bought me as dares. "But it needs one thing to bring it all together."
"Oh?"
"A One Direction poster," she says.
"Your One Direction poster?"
She nods exactly.
"That's why I love you. Your brains."
"I thought it was my boobs."
"Might have been." I wrap my arms around her. "Both start with b." I pull her into a kiss.
She laughs against my lips for a moment, then she melts into our embrace. When she breaks, she looks up at me and runs her fingers over my suit jacket. "You look sexy in this." Then the tie. "And this… can we?"
"Here?"
"Here."
"You sure?" I ask.
She nods.
"Of course." I bring my lips to hers again. I kiss her like I'm claiming her. In a way, I always am.
Tonight is no exception.
And, well—
She's wanted this for a long time.
I play coy about it, but I have to. I want to fulfill every dirty fantasy in her head. This is only the start, but it's a great fucking start.
After I break our kiss, I turn her around and undo the zipper of her dress.
She shudders as I push the fabric off her shoulders. As I do away with her bra. Her perfect pink panties.
Val, in my bedroom, in only her heels.
All my teenage wet dreams come to life.
And the deeper, adult desires too. The sexual ones. And the other forms of intimacy.
Because I trust her with this. I trust her to ask for what she needs, to tell me when something is too much, to come back to me if I ever push too hard.
And I trust myself too. I trust myself to let go if we move too fast for either of us.
I take in the sight of her for a long moment, then I wrap my arms around her and lay her on the bed.
"Hands here." I tap the spot over her head.
She lifts her arms.
I undo my tie and wrap it around her wrists. She shudders as I cinch the knot. Her fingers curl. Her thighs shake.
She's impossibly turned on and it's the sexiest thing in the entire fucking universe. It dissolves the concern lodged deep in my mind, the voice that occasionally pops in to ask what the fuck I'm doing with such a nice girl.
It's not gone. I'm not sure if it will ever be gone. But it's softer, less frequent, and I'm better at handling it.
We never escape our pasts, our upbringing. But trying to run from a part of our lives is another way to let it control us.
She deals with what happened to her.
And I deal with what happened to me.
And, together, we figure out what that means for the two of us.
I shift onto the bed and pin her arms to the pillow.
She groans as I bring my lips to hers. She kisses back hard, like she's claiming me, like she's taking something deep inside of me.
She is.
But then she already has it.
I take my time exploring her mouth then I dip lower. The lines of her collarbone. The peaks of her nipples. The soft skin of her stomach.
I push her knees apart and dive between her legs.
She moans as I lick her. After a few teasing strokes, I shift to exactly what she needs. The speed. The pressure. The spot.
She comes fast, shaking against my hands, groaning my name.
I work her through her orgasm, then I torture her by undressing as slowly as possible. She watches with wide eyes as I do away with my jacket, my shoes, my socks, my belt.
Then the shirt.
The slacks.
The boxers.
"You're evil," she breathes.
"You love it."
"I do." She looks me up and down, savoring every inch. "Now fuck me."
Even though I'm in control, I do exactly as she asks.
We move together, in that perfect rhythm, tangled together, lost together, found together.
Her orgasm pulls me over the edge. Pleasure floods my body. And that unmistakable sense of being exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Right here, with her.
I've never had that with anyone else.
I don't want it with anyone else.
Only Val, always, forever.
We stay tangled together for a long time. Neither of us mentions it—we're not using birth control anymore, we're trying, but it fills the room.