Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Everly’s eyes go big and wide, gleaming with heat as she rubs the heel of her hand over the ridge of my hard cock. “Ohhh, I see you do think about me,” she says wickedly.
“Take it out to be sure,” I toss back.
“Patience,” she teases, then strokes me more through the denim, her smile vanishing and unabashed lust returning to the sensual curves of her mouth. An unbridled sort of lust I’ve been craving to see in them for so long, it turns out.
“Fucking love the way you look at me,” I rasp out.
She drags her teeth across the corner of her lips. “You sure do,” she says, calling me on it.
I grab her hand from my cock so I don’t get too aroused too soon, then slide both of her hands back up my stomach to my chest. “I’m obsessed with it.”
She flicks a finger against one of my nipples and I groan, unbidden. I close my eyes and lean into the thrill of her exploration of me. The way she seems to want to take the lead. How she’s memorizing me with her palms.
She slides them down my shoulders. Over my biceps. Down my forearms. When she wriggles out from under me, I open my eyes again to find she’s risen and is sitting up. She reaches for my face again and hauls me close to her mouth. “Kiss me again, Max,” she whispers in a desperate command. “Kiss me like I’m all you could think about.”
“Easy. Because you are,” I say, then I rope my hand through those glossy strands of hair. Right before I drop my lips to hers, I whisper against them, “This is the first time you’ve had your hair down. You always have a ponytail, and it drives me fucking insane.”
“Because you want to tug on it,” she teases.
“No. Because I want to be the one to undo it. Because I want to be the one to undo you.”
Her eyes are thoroughly unguarded as she runs her hand along my beard, whispering, “You do.”
That confession clearly costs her something. I want to take her honesty and hold it safe, and I try to show her that in how I kiss her. I give her a kiss that is all for her, pouring every bit of my ferocious heart and filthy mind into it. Trying to put all my longing into the way I touch her. Showing her with my lips and my mouth how she has absolutely consumed me.
We kiss till we can’t breathe. We kiss like the world is burning. We kiss like it’s everything we need. When I pull away, she’s panting hard, her eyes glossy with desire. But, something like apprehension flickers in those soulful irises, too, as she asks, “Do you have a condom?”
“Yes. But are you okay?” I ask because I’m more concerned about that flash of worry than I am about my dick. “You look…”
“It’s been a while,” she says with some vulnerability.
“Same for me. I haven’t been with anyone for a year and a half.”
The corner of her lips curve into a grin, then she’s sassy again as she says, “Are you worried you won’t last, Lambert?”
My eyes narrow, and I stare harshly at her. “For that I’m going to give you three orgasms before I get one.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Threaten me again, Max.”
“And I thought I was the troublemaker,” I say.
“You are.”
“Pretty sure you’re trouble too, sunshine,” I say, then shift gears as I tug on the waistband of her sweatpants. “Can I take these off?”
She turns her face to the overhead light. It’s bright, and I flash back to the night we were here. How she dimmed the overheads when we walked in. Wait—is that what the apprehension was really about? Before she says anything else, I ask gently, “Do you want me to turn the lights down?”
She draws a shuddery breath as she sits straighter. “It’s not so much that it’s been a while,” she says softly. “It’s that I…have some scars. Kind of all over. And they’re not like hockey player sexy scars.” Her voice breaks off. My heart squeezes for her as her hand moves to her left hip and she rubs it, while meeting my eyes. “There’re some here.”
“Do you not want me to see them?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she pushes down her sweatpants, and holy shit. She’s wearing an even sexier pair of panties than last time. How is this possible? They’re sheer lavender, and they barely cover her sweet pussy. When her sweatpants hit the floor, she cups my face, grabs it, then pushes me down to the floor too.
The woman knows what she wants.
She doesn’t want to talk about scars anymore. She wants me to use my mouth for other things. So I listen to her. I settle between her thighs, staring wantonly at the tiny scrap of lace. “Sexy on. Even sexier off,” I say, then I yank them off in a heartbeat so I can bring them to my nose.