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)
So this is it, then.
This is the thing I’ve felt on my body, rubbing up and pressing against. This is the thing I’ve danced to so many times. Not to mention, this is the thing that was inside of me two nights ago. That made me cry and gave me so much pain. And rationally I know that the pain turned into pleasure—mind-numbing and mind-blowing pleasure—but I’m still a little apprehensive of it.
I lick my lips and it jerks, making my core pulse in response. “It seems…”
“Big,” he rasps.
I look up. “Bigger.”
I watch him grip his length and… Wait, are his fingers really not able to meet each other? I mean, if he strained his hand—his large hand—he might be able to. But right now, as he lightly grasps his cock and gives it a tug, his thumb doesn’t quite meet his index finger. I fist the sheets tighter. I practically rip them off the mattress as I move my legs up and down, wondering how on earth am I ever going to be able to hold it then?
“It is,” he whispers.
“You can’t really,” I swallow, “wrap your hand around it.”
He gives his cock another tug. “Only when I give it a conscious try.”
I swallow again, watching the precum sliding down his length and in turn, down his torn, bloody knuckles. God, I want to lick it. That clear liquid. Like I want to lick that thick, throbbing vein on the underside of his dick. As in, once I’m over my fear of it. Then, “But your hands are big.”
“They are.”
“My hands are really, really small, Shepard.”
“I know.”
“I don’t… think that I can ever hold your d-dick in my hands.”
I hear a rush of a breath escaping him, sort of like a pained chuckle. “I’ll teach you how.”
“Shepard?” I say his name even though he’s right here, but I think I do it more to calm myself than anything else.
And since he knows how much I love saying it, he goes, “Yeah, baby?”
Still looking at his large hand and his larger cock, I ask, “Is that… normal?”
His chest shudders with another chuckle, rough and very guttural, still pained. “For me, it is.”
I curl my toes and keep moving my heels up and down the sheets. “I know you said… The other night, you said I was m-made for you, but I don’t…”
“You are,” he says with clenched teeth, squeezing his length, and another drop oozes out.
I glance up again, my heart racing in my chest. “But—”
“Just as your pretty pink pussy is made for my big, fat dick.”
God, I love him. I do.
My love may be one-sided, and it may hurt more than anything else ever has or will. This love may have the most terrible lows, but I also know that it brings me the kind of joy and freedom and exhilaration and safety that nothing ever has or will. This love has such epic highs that I can’t help but be addicted to it.
Oh and also, this love comes with a man with a dick so huge and horny that he should be pouncing on me; it’s written in every sweaty and muscled line on his body. And yet he’s taking the time to assuage my fears about what’s to come.
“Are you sure?” I ask, still doubtful.
“Before this night is out, I’m going to prove it to you,” he vows, still stroking his dick, his hands becoming all wet and slippery.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“In fact”—he gives himself a harsh tug—“before this night is out, we’re going to be friends.”
“You said you didn’t want to be my friend,” I remind him.
“Yeah,” he says, his eyes narrowed now with lust. “But then again, I am an asshole.”
I nod. “You are.”
“And so you don’t want a friend like me. But this guy here,” he says, giving it another tug, and I swear this time his precum actually drips off his knuckles and falls to the floor, “he may look scary, but he’s a useful friend to have.”
I bite my lip. “Why?”
“Because he knows how to make you feel good,” he replies, taking a step toward the bed, and instinctively I move back. Seeing that, his eyes narrow further and he keeps coming at me as he continues, “And that’s his only job tonight. To make you feel good.” I keep moving back, sliding up the bed, not because I want to get away but because I want him to chase me. And he keeps coming, watching my retreat with flashing eyes. “To make you feel so fucking good that you beg for it. You beg for it even when you’re sore. Even when your pussy is all red and puffy and hurting, and every time you move, you feel it. You feel how fucked she is, how well-used and trashed. How wrecked and how fucking loved she is. You beg for it even when you can’t sit down, baby, and I tell you we should stop. We should probably give it a rest, ice you down there, yeah? But you’re so goddamn horny for it, for my monster, hurt-y dick that you don’t want to. That you hunt me down and make me fuck you. That you sneak into my room and climb my fucking body so you can take a ride.”