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)
Please let me be your girl. Because I already am. For now and for always.
He stares down at me for a long time, and I let him. I keep my face upturned, my neck craned. I keep my palms on his taut thighs and let him look at me. I let him study every inch of my face, every inch of my body.
My lips are painted red because I know he thinks it makes my mouth more tempting. My hair’s loose and falling down my back in red waves, like he prefers. My face is makeup free so my freckles get the center stage, again just like he likes it. I’m wearing the dress he picked out for me. Not to mention, I’m on my knees, his favorite pose, submissive and soft.
I’m all dolled up according to his preference and God, I really hope he lets me be his good girl because I’m dying to be. I’m dying to be so good for him, dying to serve him. Born to serve him. I know now.
He takes me in until his chest goes up and down like the wave. Until something changes in him. It makes him look bigger, larger and stronger. So dominating and so pervasive. It makes him look both threatening and safe. Then, clenching his jaw and putting a hand on my head, he rumbles, “You know what that means, being my good girl?”
I press my hands on his thighs, my heart racing and racing and yet at peace somehow. “It means I’m yours.”
“Fuck yeah, you are,” he agrees, his eyes narrowed.
“All of me.”
“Every single fucking inch of you.”
I stretch my neck up even more. “It means you own me.”
He flicks his eyes over my form once again. “I own you.”
“It means I let you do whatever you wanna do.”
“To you.”
“To me.”
Another flick of his eyes. Then, he mutters, as if to himself, “Yeah, you and everything about you belong to me.”
“Yes.” Then, it slips out of me without volition, without any thought, “Sir.”
I realize it after I’ve said it.
I realize it because my thighs clench so hard that it resembles a climax. My chest aches so badly that it feels like a heart attack. And the blush that covers my cheeks, my entire body burns me to the core. But I don’t look away from him. I can’t. I can’t sever this connection between us.
Because the same things happen to him. His thighs clench too. I feel his stomach hollowing out with a breath and his nostrils flaring. Instead of a blush though, his cheekbones become even sharper, his features become sharp points. But the thing that writes this energy between us in stone—this crazy, palpable energy that’s always been there since the start, since the first moment he crashed into my life and saved me from hurting myself on a broken champagne glass—is the tremor of his hand. He still has it on the top of my head and at my ‘sir’, his fingers flex before going back to firm and strong. Powerful and dominating.
Then, in a low and a rough voice, he says, “You remember what I taught you this morning?”
I already know what he’s talking about and my heart races even more. My belly feels even heavier, like a fist is digging into it and my pussy is clenching around my tampon. I swallow, digging my nails into his thighs. “Yes.”
His fingers in my hair curl into a fist and he tugs on it, making me gasp. “Yes what?”
I swallow again, my chest heaving. “Y-yes, Sir.”
A hint of satisfaction passes over his face, making heat swirl in my belly, and he loosens his grip on my hair. “Good girl.” Then, “You think you can take more?”
My throat dries. “I-I can try… Sir.”
“No, you won’t,” he says. “You’ll do it. Or you’ll spend all night on your knees with my cock in your mouth, gagging on it.”
Shivers skitter down my spine as I lick my lips. “Yes, Sir.”
His chest moves with a long breath. “Take me out.”
And I do. I rush to do it. My hands are sweaty, and my fingers are unpracticed. But somehow, I manage to unbutton his jeans and open his zipper. I manage to push his jeans and his briefs down and get his cock out.
Like this morning, it’s all thick and large, so hard and yet so silky. Hot. God, so fucking hot and alive. Precum is dripping from the slit up top, making the length glisten in the dark. The head is all red as always and needy looking. And that vein of his—that I got to lick this morning—is thick and throbbing. My first thought when I saw it earlier today, from this close, was it’s a pretty dick. But now as I watch it under the stars, it’s more than pretty. It’s beautiful.