Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
The first bead slips in and I feel it in my entire body. My chest tightens as I suck in a breath, then I relax and exhale and focus on how erotic it feels, having something in me in this way. He slides another bead in and I’m shocked to feel response in other places, somehow not expecting to be sexually excited in tandem. I’m not sure why I didn’t, because every nerve ending in my body feels like an erogenous zone. My nipples are so hard they’re throbbing and I think if he touched my clit right now I’d come. But it’s not just the obvious places, I feel it everywhere. The back of my neck tingles and my stomach is tight. The curve of my lower back and the tips of my fingers. Everywhere.
I groan when he caresses the soft curve where my thigh meets my ass and bury my face in my hands when more lube drips onto my skin. He slips another bead in and the pressure is intense, a pleasurable intense. When his finger swirls my clit as the next bead slides in I moan and push back on my hands, arching my back and shoving my hips closer to him. When I finally hear the condom wrapper crinkle I want to weep with joy. With my vagina.
And then he’s nudging at my entrance with his cock. I glance at him over my shoulder. He’s got one foot on the floor and the other planted on the bed outside my knee, his eyes on the view in front of him. I imagine the end of the trail of beads hanging out of my ass and I clench so hard around his cock that he slaps my ass and tells me to, “Relax, Chloe.”
It’s sort of humiliating but it’s working for me.
My fingers are clenching the bedspread as I feel him slide deeper. It’s tighter this way, and he’s a tight fit without any assistance. I feel oddly proud of the stretch. Of the heated words coming from Boyd. Of the fullness. My tits bounce as he pulls back and drives in, his hands on my hips, running down my spine, pulling my hair.
“You feel so good,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. I’m clenching him so tightly I’m surprised he can still move. The sensation of having the beads in my ass while he’s inside of me is not what I thought it’d be. It’s better.
I’m sort of getting off on my bravery. On being adventurous—it’s an ego boost.
And then he’s sliding the beads out, and that’s a whole different sensation. My pulse skyrockets and my head drops—as much as it can with Boyd still fisting a handful of my hair. My orgasm feels like it lasts forever and the insides of my thighs are soaked. Behind me Boyd’s breaths have shallowed and then he jerks inside of me, two, three times before his pelvis comes to a rest flat against my ass. His skin is warm, the light trail of hair that runs from his belly button downward brushing against my bottom.
I feel a kiss press between my shoulder blades and then he pulls out of me and stands. The bed dips when he slides in behind me a minute later. I’m wrecked. Incredibly, gloriously wrecked. I love sex with Boyd. I don’t think about anything else when he’s touching me. My mind doesn’t race with worries. I don’t second-guess something he said an hour ago. I’m like, my best me when we’re together.
“Stay,” he murmurs into my ear, his lips brushing my jaw, his arm wrapping around my stomach.
So I stay. Relaxed, sated, happy.
But four hours later, I’m wide awake, unable to will myself back to sleep.
Boyd isn’t touching me. He’s rolled over, his arm flung across the bed, breathing deep and even. I turn on my side and watch the city over the half walls of the loft. Those floor-to-ceiling windows that Boyd promised offered a great view at night? They do. They also let the light in. You don’t think about the light at two AM when you live on the eighth floor far above street lights. Boyd lives on the third and fourth floors. He has mechanical curtains, but I have no idea how to operate them. Maybe he always sleeps with them open? I don’t think I could get used to that. Wait, I wonder if you can see in these windows? The building across the street isn’t that far away. But I can’t see anything happening over there, so I decide not to think about it.
Besides, there are so many other things to think about. What did he mean by stay? All night? Maybe he just didn’t want to drive me home? Maybe he meant stay as in stay still, because he has a cuddling fetish. Maybe he was going to drive me home after, but he fell asleep.