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)
This is the most I’ve ever been naked in front of him, or anyone, in my white bra and panties. I should be running to cover myself up. I should be doing something about the flush covering my skin, my chest and my throat; the freckles around my ribs and the side of my waist. But I don’t. Even though I was nervous before, it was more about not being able to give him what he wants, not about baring my body to him. So no, I don’t want to hide.
Not from him.
Besides, he’s wanted this for so long too. And even though he’s being a giant asshole right now, I know the sight of my partially bare body is affecting him. There’s a hitch in his breath that’s so clearly visible in the way his chest moves. He’s really on the edge now, that even a feather can topple him over. And he wipes his parted mouth with the back of his hand as if the air is so hot and thick in this small, red-lit room. And all because I’m giving him what he wants, what he so desperately craves. God, I’ve been such an idiot, saying no to him.
So without further ado, I take the rest of my clothes off. I unhook my utility bra in the front, roll my shoulders to get it off and then slide my equally unappealing white panties, which may as well be made of silk lace the way his chest is moving, down my legs. And then the only things on my body are my favorite heels and my belly button ring.
Along with his stare.
His stare is on my body too. All dark and piercing. Touching, waking goosebumps on my skin. Making things heavier than before, shakier, more trembling. More wet. Wetter, so that I swear I can hear my thighs sliding against each other. I can hear the sloppy sounds of the mess I’m making down there. And it’s only going to get worse if he doesn’t let up. If he doesn’t stop looking at me like this.
Like I’m not real.
Like I may be his dream. His dream come true. All pink and flushed, ripe. Like a strawberry, ready for his sharp teeth, and he’s deciding where to bite me first. From the looks of it, he’s torn between my heaving breasts with their dark pink nipples and my glistening thighs. He keeps going back and forth between the two.
I take a step toward him then, refusing to make him wait any longer—if he wants to eat me, he can do that—but his eyes skitter up and he commands, “No.”
I fist my fingers at my sides because his stare looks dark, possessed, hungry. “But—"
“On your knees.”
I freeze. “What?”
He lets a moment tick by. A moment where my heart has slowed its beats and my breaths have stalled. All because every inch of me, naked and pink, is waiting for him to say something. To say what I’m afraid he’s going to.
“Crawl to me,” he commands, his features so tight that his lips barely move.
Holy fuck.
My belly both drops and quivers. Shame makes me flinch so hard that I stumble on my feet. I can’t crawl, can I? I certainly can’t crawl naked. It’s degrading and humiliating and no amount of his asshole behavior or money that I don’t want, can make up for that.
So then why do I want to do it? Why do I want to drop down on my knees so fast that they bleed? Why is my pussy pulsing so hard that I have a great urge to touch it? It’s not even about being brave or standing up to him or whatever the fuck I was thinking before. It’s about the fact I want to do it. I’m dying to do it. Even as shame is turning my skin heated.
God, this is twisted but I keep looking at him and drop down to my knees. I watch the great fall and rise of his chest, as if he’s breathing with satisfaction that I obeyed him. It makes me hornier as I come down on all fours and crawl.
For him. To him.
The floor is hard and cold, harder and colder than anything I’ve ever encountered before. And in the back of my mind, I know I should feel uncomfortable. I should feel the cold seeping into my bones, hardness scraping my bare knees and my palms. I should feel more ashamed than I am at being so vulnerable and exposed. At how my breasts dangle as I inch along, my nipples so hard that they’re achy. How the long strands of my hair hang over my shoulder and drag along the floor.
And I do feel it. All of those things including the shame.
It’s just that they only turn me on more. They make me hotter, sweatier. Sweat slides down my neck like my juices slide down my thighs. My belly is trembling, and I want to find a way to touch my jiggling breasts. I want to find a way to play with my hard nipples. All because I keep my eyes on him. All because I keep looking into his dark, dark eyes that seem so intense and focused, satisfied, and I can’t wait to get to him. I can’t wait to get between his sprawled thighs, so I’m surrounded by him on all sides. So he can tell me how well I did.