Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Sensing my need, Anthony turned as his teeth nipped my lower lip, biting just to the point of pain as he folded forward to grab me around the thighs, then lifting me up off of the ground to deposit me down on my mother’s desk.
My legs instinctively spread for him and he stepped between.
My arms went up around his neck as he leaned forward, his hand planting on the desk behind me, bending me backward as his hips pressed between my legs, his cock pressing against my cleft.
My legs wrapped around his hips, my heels digging into his ass, holding him more tightly against me as I writhed against him, desperate to get a hint of relief from the aching need.
Anthony groaned against my lips as I found the rhythm my body was craving, rocking restlessly against him, my hands clawing at his back.
His mouth ripped from mine, moving down to tease over my neck as I arched off the desk, rocking harder against him, my low whimpers becoming soft moans.
Anthony lifted up, looking down at me for a moment before he moved me to the very end of the desk so he could stand, his hands sliding up under my shirt, fingers meeting heated, sensitive skin as I continued to writhe against him, driving myself closer and closer to the edge.
His fingers had just traced up to the underside of my bra when a voice called from the main area of the gym.
“Saylor?” my mom called, making me freeze as Anthony’s hands snatched back out of my shirt, and he quickly moved to stand, eyes wide, horrified.
While all I felt was a bone-deep sort of frustration as I moved to sit up on the desk.
“Saylor?” she called, and I could see her flicking lights on as she made her way closer.
Anthony, in his panic to lean down and grab his forgotten jacket to, likely, cover his raging hard-on, rammed his head against the desk, mumbling a curse as he quickly stood just as my mother came into the doorway.
“Sayl—oh,” she said, pressing her lips together as her eyes lit up in amusement as Anthony turned to face her, knuckles white he was clutching his jacket so hard, seemingly completely oblivious to the little trickle of blood moving down his temple when my mom flicked on the light.
“Anthony left his jacket here,” I said, trying not to laugh at the shade of scarlet Anthony’s neck was taking on.
“I see that,” my mom said, having to swallow hard not to laugh. “You two are all rumpled,” she said, and I watched the redness move from Anthony’s neck to his ears. “You must have had a busy day,” she added. “You know,” she went on, “chasing bad guys and such,” she added with a nod.
“Yeah. Ah, busy,” Anthony agreed, sounding like he was choking on his words as he wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole right then.
On the plus side, I imagined his hard-on was good and gone by now.
“Oh, honey, you’re bleeding,” she said, zeroing in on his face. “Saylor, honey, you should take him to the locker room and… fix him all up,” she said.
Anthony’s hand rose, touching the blood, then wiping it carelessly on his shirt. “No. No, I’m fine. I should, ah, get going. Tomorrow at ten?” he asked, turning toward me, but not quite looking at me before rushing out of the door to go be mortified in peace.
My mom turned to watch him go, lips twitching as he tore out of the gym like his ass was on fire.
“Bad timing, huh?” she asked, finally letting out a little laugh as she turned back to me.
“It’s probably for the best,” I admitted, sucking in a deep breath, ignoring the way my sex was clenching hard in objection to things stopping just before the grand finale.
“Next time you break in to have sex on my desk, can you at least lock the door behind you?” she asked, leaning over to pick up a folder we must have knocked to the ground whilst otherwise engaged.
“We really did come for his jacket,” I admitted, hopping off of the desk. “And we were both fully clothed,” I reminded her.
“Yes,” she agreed, smiling, “but for how long?”
My mother and I had long-since moved on from anything resembling discomfort about topics like sex since she walked in on me mid doing it with my high school boyfriend in my own bed.
She’d always been more of a ‘if you’re mature enough to do it, you’re mature enough to talk about it’ kind of mom. So there’d been a lot of talking after that. About consent, condoms, birth control, making sure I wasn’t letting a guy get away with not making it a mutually satisfying act. Because, as she said, ‘if he’s not as concerned about your pleasure as your own, he should get a sex doll, not a woman.’