Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Fuck.
Me.
I feel her shift beneath me, and it takes everything in me to drag my eyes open. But, God, it’s worth it when I find her. I use a bit more strength and pull back, wanting to get her entire sweaty face in my sights. Fucking beautiful. Every inch of her is beautiful. I sigh and kiss her swollen lips, before settling back into her neck again, the feel of her light fingers tracing the planes of my back making me sleepier. I give in to my exhaustion and space out, relaxed in her hold. Calm in her hold. At peace in her hold.
I don’t know how long I snooze for, but it’s the most tranquil snooze in the history of snoozes. This. Every day. And then in my subconscious state, I notice the soft feel of her strokes is suddenly gone. But I can still feel her hot walls hugging my dick. I lift my hips, hissing as I pull out of her.
“You sent me to sleep,” I rasp, my throat scratchy.
“I did.”
I smile and take a lock of her sexed-up hair. “You’re too beautiful.”
She reaches for my forehead and smooths out the frown line I hadn’t realized was there. “So are you.”
Me? No. I’m ugly. Marred. I don’t ever want her to see that, don’t ever want to disappoint her. My smile is half-hearted, and I pray she doesn’t notice it.
I look at her boobs. Perfect distraction, for me and for her. I dive in, wedging my face in and taking a deep inhale. “Consider yourself reminded, lady.” And I’m available to remind twenty-four/seven if necessary. Part of me hopes it is necessary.
I get to my knees and hold out my hands for her to take. She comes with ease, and I settle her on my thighs facing me, before moving myself up the bed to rest back against the headboard. Just look at her, magnificently naked and all over me. She looks good all over me. Attached to me. Touching me. I take her hips and circle my thumbs across the sensitive spot, smiling when she grabs my hands, stopping my movements. “Spend the day with me tomorrow.” That was supposed to be a question, not an order.
“I have things planned.”
Things planned? It’s Saturday, so unless it’s work, it can be canceled. And if it is work, I’ll find a way to cancel it myself. I pout, hoping she caves into my cuteness so I don’t have to convince her in another way that spending the day with me is quite compulsory. “What things?” I ask, starting to circle my thumbs under her hold. Another way might be tickling her to death until she agrees. Or I could just fuck her again until she agrees. A persuasion fuck, if you like. It’ll work quite nicely alongside the reminder fuck, and she took to that quite well.
Her grip on my hands increases, her face warning. It’s laughable. Is she trying to regain some control here, now I’m not buried balls deep inside her, blowing her mind? How quickly she forgets. Silly woman. “I need to sort my stuff out,” she tells me, and I frown.
“What stuff?”
“Kate’s place is temporary accommodation,” she says on a little shrug, and my frown deepens. “I’ve been there for four weeks—everything is everywhere. I need to sort it out for when I get my own place.”
Her own place? Maybe that’s not necessary. But . . . “Where were you four weeks ago?”
“With Matt.”
“Who the fuck is Matt?”
“He’s my ex-boyfriend.”
And what the fuck is that inside now? Relief? “Ex?”
“Yes. Ex.”
I’m unable to stop my body from softening. So she has an ex. Matt. Of course she has a fucking ex, you dickhead. Look at her. But how and why did it end? And does it matter now that it means I get her? How old was he? I snarl to myself.
“Jesse, I need to get my car. I can’t leave Kate to drive Margo all the way to Yorkshire. She rattles and shakes all over the place; it won’t be safe.”
Margo? “Don’t worry,” I assure her. Who the fuck is Margo? “I’ll take you to get it in the morning.”
“She’s leaving at eight-ish.”
“Ish,” I mouth, grinning, getting one in return. She likes that word. Translation: Not committed. So long as she doesn’t use it when discussing us.
She shifts my hands up a few inches, away from her tickle spot, and starts feeling around in her hair. I don’t know what the fuck she’s doing, but it’s making her boobs thrust forward, and that’s uncalled for. I scowl, and she smiles, probably wary.
“What?”
She knows what. “You refuse to spend the day with me, and then thrust those fabulous boobs in my face? That’s not playing fair, Ava.” I flick a nipple, my scowl transforming into a smile when it hardens. One fleeting touch. Her body responds in the most pleasing way.