Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
And my hips.
I thrust into my tight fist, staying on the edge as long as I can to enjoy that sharp hint of nearly falling over. But it’s too much.
She’s too much.
And I jump off the edge into ecstasy, ropes of hot cum covering my hand and running down to my balls as I grit out her name.
Joy . . . in more ways than one.
And pain.
I’m still catching my breath and using my rescued T-shirt to wipe away the mess I’ve made when my phone dings in my bag. I’d ignore it, but it’s one of the few special ringtones I assigned to important people.
And that’s Joy’s sound. Dua Lipa’s “New Rules.” She’s dangerous, but like the song, irresistible.
I dive for my bag, grabbing my phone with shaky hands. Even seeing her name on the screen makes my spent cock start to grow hard again.
I open her text message and see two little words that pierce me all the way to my soul.
Every time.
I groan. This woman is for sure going to be the death of me, but I hit the button for FaceTime anyway, praying she answers. When she appears, she looks pink-cheeked and hazy-eyed. And surprised to see me even though she answered.
“Again, Joy. I want to see you this time,” I demand.
She hesitates long enough that my heart drops, but then the phone moves farther away from her face. She’s in her bed, pillows fluffed behind her head and the same T-shirt she had on when I left still covering her breasts. For a second, I mourn that, but then I can suddenly see her pussy and my brain short-circuits.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” I rasp. Her bare skin is gleaming with the juices of her orgasm, and her pussy is contracting, looking for something to fill it.
I could fill her better than she’s ever felt before.
I move to the couch, falling to it and pulling myself out once again. The moment gives me a chance to see the uncertainty in her eyes.
“It’s okay. We’re okay. You’re there, I’m here, and we both know what this is, yeah?”
She nods, biting her bottom lip like she’s trying to not say anything or not make noise.
Truthfully, I have no idea what I’m saying, and I damn sure have no idea what this is, but I want it, whatever it is. I don’t think I could stop stroking myself now if Shepherd himself walked into my living room and asked what the hell I’m doing with his sister. I shove that thought away, pushing it to the deep recesses of my mind. He’ll never know. It won’t ruin our friendship. Besides, Joy and I already did this once before.
Not like this. Not where I could see her sweetness spilling onto her fingers. Not when I could see her teasing her clit.
“I barely made it through my front door tonight before I was jacking off,” I confess.
She whimpers. “I could still hear your truck out front when I slipped my hand inside my panties. I was already soaked.”
“God damnit,” I grunt, pumping myself harder and faster. “Why didn’t you answer me when I asked?”
Her fingers pause as she takes a deep breath. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if you were here.” She looks at me clear-eyed and present in the moment, and I understand exactly what she means.
She might want me physically. But she doesn’t want me. Or doesn’t want to want me.
Because of Shepherd? Or because of who I am?
It’s a question for later because her fingers start to move again. That’s what this is. All that it is. We’re using each other to get off, with a side of good luck for tomorrow’s game. But that seems so distant when she throws her head back and her eyes flutter closed.
“Fuck yourself with your fingers. Slide them inside and let me see how wet you are, baby.” And though I told her to do it, I’m not prepared for what seeing Joy’s fingers disappear inside her pussy does to me. It’s the sexiest thing I think I’ve ever seen.
Except then, she holds them up to the screen, pulling them apart, and I can see the strings of arousal coating them, and I have an entirely new definition of what sexy is. “I’m so wet, Dalton.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “I’m hard as fuck and about to blow even though I already did a couple of minutes ago. I said your name.”
I shouldn’t tell her that, but it’s the truth.
“Show me what I do to you,” she says.
I angle the phone so she can see all of me—from my balls, up my shaft, my abs and chest, to my face. “Imagine it’s my cock fucking you.” She whimpers, slipping two fingers back inside herself easily. “More. If it’s me, you need at least three fingers. Or a toy that’s bigger.”