Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
And invades my mouth.
He makes me open it, forcefully, dominatingly, as if he has every right, and he does, doesn’t he, and thrusts his tongue inside. That in itself would be okay, but he pairs that with taking a big swipe of me. As if he wants to taste every corner and nook and cranny of my mouth, and he wants it all in the same lap. He wants it all in a single bite and when he gets it, when he gets a hit of me, he groans.
Like he really was hungry for me. Like he really hasn’t eaten in years, or maybe he has but hasn’t tasted nearly anything as good as me. Better than even those strawberries he keeps eating in honor of me. Sweeter and tastier.
So much so that he leans over me. He buries his fingers in my long, long hair that I wore down for him, and slants his mouth on me harder. He presses his hard abs into my soft belly and pushes his wildly breathing chest into mine as if wanting to glue ourselves to each other, so we never have to stop kissing. Or maybe to leave the shape of his body behind when he does have to stop. Whatever it is, I know he loves the taste of me more than anything else in this world because he licks me over and over and groans every time he gets a taste.
And since his will is my will, I do the same.
I bury my hands in his hair, all rich and thick and perpetually mussed up and falling over his forehead and grazing the neck of his t-shirts. I arch my back so I’m even closer to him, my belly is all flattened under the heavy slab of his stomach, and my breasts are cushioned against the massive expanse of his chest. When I’m as close to him as I can get, I lick him too, and I’m not shy about it. I don’t behave like this is my first kiss even though it is. I don’t try to be demure or act like this is too much for a first ever kiss. Like this isn’t everything I ever wanted.
Because it is everything I ever wanted. It has been the greatest wish of my life, to kiss him and be kissed by him. But more than that, it has been my greatest wish to be consumed by him. To be eaten and drunk down and be sucked on. It’s been my greatest wish to be be bitten ever since I realized he’s not just a thorn, but he can also be a vicious viper with poison in his veins. Ever since I realized being kissed by him would be equivalent to being stung.
So I tangle my tongue with his. I suck on his mouth and taste those lingering strawberries. He’s eaten so many of those that by now they must be in his bloodstream. And when I imagine them seeping into mine, I moan. When I imagine his sweet poison running through my veins, my jugular, I not only moan, I also writhe.
Because how can I not? It’s natural. It’s instinctive. It’s what I did for days on end and it’s what I’m going to do until he wants me to stop. Dance for him. Twist my hips for him. Flex my thighs around his waist and hump his six pack. I use him as a pole to move against his body as I kiss him and kiss him and fucking kiss him back.
But I should’ve known what would happen if I did that. If I danced for him.
Be it the strip club or his backyard, every time I move my body for his pleasure, my own spikes up. A quickening starts up in my belly and my thighs shake. My breasts get all heavy and I grow wet.
I’m wet now, getting wetter by the second. My panties—that I had to change into after our encounter in the bathroom—are close to being ruined. They’re all sticky and drenched and I think I may be leaving a stain on his dress shirt with all my humping. And that turns me on so much that I almost come from all this stimulation.
But then I remember I probably shouldn’t be doing that. I probably should not be leaving stains on his dress shirt and his jacket. We’re not really at the strip club or in his—our—back yard. We’re at a party where he’s one of the chief guests. He can’t go in there with his clothes wet from my juices. We need to be careful.
In fact, we shouldn’t even be doing this out here, in plain sight. What if someone sees the Wrecking Thorn kissing his new stepsister? What if they put it on the internet for everyone to see? I don’t care about myself, but I care about him and his family, especially Snow. I care about his career.