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 then of course, you know what’s coming, right?” he asks, breaking into my thoughts.
“What?”
“Your tits,” he replies, closing his eyes again, arching even further. “I love your tits right now, a perfect handful and so fucking tasty. Perfect canvas for all my little teeth marks. But when you’re knocked up, I’m going to fucking lose my shit. I’m going to lose my mind at how big they’ll be. How they’ll be all swollen and ripe. Juicy. Your nipples will change color and go all dark. There will be blue veins going up and down.” He squeezes his dick so hard, he jerks and grunts, his face scrunching up in pain. “Fuck, I’m already losing it.”
“God, Shepard, stop,” I say even though I’m playing with my tits now. I’m touching them over his jersey, the material scraping against my nipples, making them hurt so good. Not as good as he can hurt them, but close.
“And you call me obsessed, don’t you?” he continues, “Well, baby, you don’t know the first thing about how obsessed I’ll get until the milk starts coming in.”
I jerk, pulling at my nipple. “What?”
“You didn’t think I’d let that go, did you. I have gulped down your cum. Tasted your virgin blood, licked your period blood. Of course I am going to drink your milk. And I know you are going to like it. You liked feeling your belly swell with my cock too, didn’t you.”
I did, yes.
When he was giving me a tummy massage while fucking me slowly, I put my hand down there too. And holy God, I could feel him. I could feel his hard cock running in and out of me. And it was the most intense experience of my life.
The most intimate. Like this one.
“Please, Shepard, I want you right now. Please,” I beg.
“You couldn’t stop touching it. Touching your tummy, feeling me deep, deep, so fucking deep in your body,” he keeps going, ignoring my plea.
“Please, Shepard,” I try again.
“But you wanna know the best part?”
“W-what?”
“The best part is that we’ll have a baby. And she’ll look exactly like you.” He smiles slightly, as if imagining it. “She’ll have red hair and freckles. And I’ll teach her to love them. I’ll tell her she’s the most beautiful girl in the whole world because she takes after her mommy. I’ll teach her to play soccer too. So she can drop kick a ball into any boy’s head who dares to come near her.”
At this, I go completely still. My heart clenches and clenches and words are at the tip of my tongue that I want a boy and I want him to look like his daddy. But all I do is call out, “Shepard, you—"
“So tell me why I should give this back to you when you love being filled with me. My dick, my tongue, my cum and my fucking baby.”
“Because you can’t…”
I catch myself before saying the L word. But he opens his eyes and looks at me like he heard it. He stares at me for a beat, his gaze gaining focus and some type of dark energy gaining momentum within him. And before I can take my next breath, he’s on me. He all but tackles me to the ground, our mouths fused together. And I’m so delirious with lust, with love, with unspoken wishes and broken dreams that I latch onto him. Latch onto everything he’s giving me.
I feel him spreading my legs, pulling my panties down before yanking my tampon out with the string and pushing inside of me. It’s a good thing he has his mouth fused with mine because the scream that erupts from my mouth, my chest, my heart, my very soul would’ve shattered the windowpanes. It would’ve shattered the roof.
And then he’s fucking me like a desperate man. A man hanging onto the very last thread of sanity and life. The one who can’t decide whether he wants to hold on or give in. Maybe he thinks jumping to his death is a better choice because he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, but then he’s clinging to life because that’s all he knows. If he asked me, I’d tell him. I’d tell him that jumping to death is glorious. Life is overrated. Living is overrated when you can let the thing you love kill you. I would tell him that I’ve already jumped to my death and I love it.
I love him.
I love the kind of a wreck he makes me. I’d tell him, let me make you a wreck too.
Just as the thought occurs to me, he comes. He jerks inside of me, giving me his hot and thick cum, and I’m not far behind. I’m coming over his cock that’s still pulsing inside me. And for a second I know such peace that I think I’ve really died. Or maybe I’m dreaming because I have a stream of consciousness going through my head. A litany of thoughts and half-realized wishes that you only ever get when your mind is sleepy and sluggish.