Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
My lipstick.
He’s asking about the name of the pretty pink shade.
Something else he’s obsessed about because he’s always asking me that.
“D-dangerous Woman.”
He chuckles and I feel it in my pussy, who’s already making the most delicious thing for him. “You a dangerous woman, Bubblegum?”
I bite my lip. “I am.”
He chuckles again. “Well, I agree.” His hands resume their task of pushing my dress up my thighs, baring my skin. “Look what you do for me.”
“What?”
“Spreading your legs like that and letting me eat you out.” He licks my mouth again. “Even though I haven’t locked the door and anyone could walk in.”
“R-Reign —”
“And look what you make me do for you.” He reaches where he wants to, at the apex of my thighs, revealing my pink panties. “Bringing me down on my knees like this. Making me push my face between your creamy thighs so I can lick that pink little drama queen pussy like a rabid fucking dog for all the world to see.”
And with that, he does it.
He slides my panties to the side and shoves his face between my bare thighs to get at me. And lap my cream up like an animal for all the world to see.
Which like him, I don’t care about after my initial — also weak — reservation.
I guess because I don’t really have to be perfect all the time. Not with him. Never with him.
With him, I can finally be myself. I can be wild.
Plus I don’t think he’ll let anyone see anything anyway.
He’s super territorial that way.
And I’m proven right because somebody does come into the room.
It happens when he’s done eating my pussy and licking all that cream. After he’s shoved down his gray workout pants along with the bodice of my dress, and he’s inside of me, filling my pink little drama queen pussy with his cock.
At this point, someone comes into the room but before I can even notice it, he hides me. He puts his big hand on the back of my head and shoves my face into his deliciously sweaty chest. He makes himself bigger and larger so as to hide me with his body, and turns around to snap at whoever it is that entered to ‘get the fuck out.’
I have zero clue though as to who it was because he never stops fucking me and while I’m burrowed and hidden in his chest, I get busy licking his tattoo.
So yeah, he protects me like I knew he would.
Like I’m really his queen.
Like a boyfriend protects his girlfriend.
But we’re not that.
We’re so totally not boyfriend-girlfriend, because this is just sex.
Even though I’d like to point out that we’ve met each other’s friends, hung out with them even, like a real couple.
It’s not news that we have friends in common. I mean, my whole stalking operation, first at The Horny Bard, and then at Yo Mama’s So Fit, was successful precisely because we have common links.
And one of those friends, Callie, who lives with her husband Reed in this pretty glass house in Wuthering Garden, usually hosts a soccer game over the weekend once a month or so. Since I’m one of the St. Mary’s girls now — along with Callie herself, Poe, Wyn, also Jupiter and Tempest; their other friend Salem’s a St. Mary’s girl too but she’s in California right now with her pro-soccer player boyfriend Arrow so she can’t go — they invite me as well.
Oh, and since Reign is here for the summer and he knows a bunch of the guys involved — Reed and Ledger and even Callie’s other brothers, Stellan and Shepard — he is invited as well.
So we go together.
And hang out with the whole gang.
Plus Principal Marshall is there.
Or rather Alaric.
Because he’s Poe’s boyfriend now.
And I’m so glad about that.
While all the boys play soccer in the backyard, all the girls along with Callie’s little girl Halo gather around on these cute little picnic blankets and talk. Also, steal glances at all the guys. And why wouldn’t they? These are some really, really sexy men.
Plus they’re all very athletic.
They run. They swerve. They dodge. They dribble and kick. They head the ball. They even flip and land on their feet with a laugh. Like that’s so normal. Like everyone should just flip in the air all the time and high five each other.
“Soccer players, huh,” Callie says, bumping my shoulder, staring at her husband, Reed, who’s just gotten the ball and is dribbling it with such finesse that it could only be magic.
“I know.”
Seriously though, soccer players with their sleek, streamlined bodies have to be the sexiest.
Soccer is art.
Or maybe soccer players are.
“And I didn’t even know that my man could play,” Poe sighs, staring at her boyfriend, who gets the ball from Reed and is now trying to pass it to a striker on their team probably.