Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 79(@200wpm)___ 63(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 79(@200wpm)___ 63(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
“Oh, shit,” I gasp. It’s huge.
“Look your fill, angel, because like I said, I’m going to destroy you.” He is. I know he is. He leans down and takes my nipple into his mouth. I hiss. He sucks and bites it until I’m a writhing mess. He moves to the other one and gives it the same treatment. He moves his tongue down my belly, stopping to run his fingers reverently over the lace edge of my panties. He drops to his knees and hooks his thumbs into the waistband and slides them down my legs.
“Step,” he demands, and I do so immediately. He places biting kisses on my thighs before his tongue swipes through my folds. I cry out as I grip his hair so hard. He dips his tongue back into my pussy. Lifting one of my legs over his shoulder, he devours me. It doesn’t take long until I’m coming, screaming his name like a possessed banshee. He stands, licking my juices off of his lips. “You taste so fucking good.”
“It’s my turn to taste you now,” I say, stepping out of my heels. I lose the garter belt too before dropping to my knees in front of him.
“Fuck, angel. You look so beautiful on your knees ready to take my cock,” he says as I tug his boxers down his legs until they pool at his ankles.
“Step,” I say, and he kicks them away. I look up at him and lick my lips. He groans. When I wrap my lips around the angry head of his shaft, that groan turns into a moan. I moan too as his precum hits my tastebuds. He tastes so good. He tastes like he’s mine. No, don’t think like that.
He’s too big to fit in my mouth, so I use my fists to stroke him off while I take him as deep as I can. When he hits the back of my throat, he shouts my name and grips my hair, using my head as leverage to fuck my mouth. I love it.
I whine when he abruptly pulls me off of his cock. “Hey!” I say, giggling as he all but runs, dragging me along with him, toward the big bedroom in the back of the room. The giant bed looks so soft, but I’m thrown on it before I get the chance to say anything. He’s between my spread thighs so fast, that I haven’t even taken a breath yet.
“I’m not coming anywhere but in that cunt, angel.” I want that so badly; I don’t think to tell him to put a condom on or that I’ve never done this before… He slams his cock into me, taking my cherry with such force, my boobs hit me in the face.
“Ahhh,” I scream. The pain is instant but just as quick as it started, it ebbs into an intense full feeling. I’m being stretched and it feels… amazing. He stops mid-thrust. I’ll never forget the stunned look on his face that quickly turns into awe and something primal I can’t quite identify.
“Fuck, angel. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have…” he begins, but I cut him off. My palm touches his cheek, and he leans into it after kissing it.
“It’s perfect, Malcolm. Move, please. I need more. Give me everything,” I demand, and he begins to move again.
“You’re mine, Millicent. Mine. This pussy is mine.”
“I know,” I admit. No matter what happens tomorrow, I’ll never be able to do this with another man. Never.
He fucks me so hard; I have no choice but to meet him thrust for thrust. It feels so good. I come as soon as he rubs my clit. He shouts my name as he comes inside me. He drops down on me, exhausted, and I wrap my arms around him. His cock is still inside me. He kisses my lips, my neck, my chest, everywhere he can reach.
“Fuck, Millie. That was amazing. You’re so tight. I’ve never felt anything like you before.”
“I know. It was for me too,” I say kissing him back.
After three more mind-blowing orgasms, he’s fast asleep. The clock on the nightstand says 11:59 and I know it’s time to go. I don’t want to, but I know that I need to. Using the notepad I found by the phone in the kitchen, I write him a note, crying the entire time. I dress in silence, his snores occasionally ringing out. Still crying, I walk out of the hotel and wait for my Uber. My phone rings for the fifth time since I’ve been outside. I suck up my tears and answer.
“Hi, Mama,” I say.
“Finally. Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year. How are you feeling.”
“The flu is no joke, but Calvin Forsyth called your father. They want your answer now. They would like an April wedding.” April, as in four months from now? No. No way. Not possible.