Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 134898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
I shiver, and this time not because there’s a body in the alley. This time it’s because of anticipation.
“Do we need to discuss your payment?”
“Already taken care of by the guild,” I lie. No need to point out that I’ll be using him as much as he’s using me. I shimmy out of my bloomers and skirts, then strip my tunic off after a moment’s hesitation and kick off my boots. Umala likes for the nestmaids to wear skirts, repeaters or not, so my clothing is a bastardized version of a guild fledgling’s uniform, along with the black repeater sash. But if he realizes that, he won’t think that I’m a hired sex worker, so it all goes by the wayside. I leave my frayed and much-patched corset on, since it’s trickier to get on and off, and move to the edge of the bed.
He immediately reaches for me, gripping one of my butt cheeks in a bandaged mitt. The Taurian’s groan of pleasure is loud in the room. “Nice, thick flanks. My favorite.”
And he squeezes even as he hisses with pain.
I bite back a squeak because his handling makes me slippery with arousal. The buzzing from the corpse in the alley below is fading behind nervous excitement. I’m not the type to jump into bed with just anyone, though I’ve had my share of lovers in the past. Before, I’d always had a relationship of some kind with my sex partner.
Before, they’d always been human. The sheer size of this Taurian and the knot are all new to me.
But new is definitely distracting. It’s just what I need.
I reach out and stroke his cock, fascinated at how thick he is. A long strand of pre-cum glazes the head of his cock and I run my fingers through the wetness, using it to slick my hand.
“Spit,” he tells me.
I lean over and spit on his cock, clenching my thighs together even as I do. He knows what he wants to the point of being pushy, and for some reason, it really turns me on. He’s so big I have to spit a second time, and the lubricant quickly dries up with a few strokes of my hand.
“You’re too large,” I tell him, amused. “I don’t have enough spit. I don’t know that any woman does.”
He chuckles, reaching for me. “Use your mouth on me, then.”
“You don’t tell me what to do. I’m in charge here.” And I reach up and flick his nipple.
The big Taurian stiffens on the bed, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve gone too far. But then he groans, his hips pumping instinctively at the air. “Bossy little wench. Fine. You’re in charge. Spit, use your hand, whatever. Just touch me.”
“I’ve a better idea than spit,” I say, sliding away before he can grab me. I love the frustrated growl he makes as I slip out of his grasp. Heading over to the small table nearby, I spot a pot of lotion. I noticed the other day when cleaning that most of these rooms have extra lotion on hand. The constant bathing and soaps make skin dry, and so the healer is constantly lotioning her patients after washing them.
But I’ve got a far naughtier use for that lotion. It’s mild and unscented, which makes it perfect for sex. Scooping up a handful, I move back to his side and slather his cock with it. He sucks in a breath, no doubt surprised at the cool sensation, but when my hand wraps around him again, his irritation turns to pleasure.
“Aye, that’s it,” he growls, reaching for me again. His bandaged hand drifts through the air, searching, and I drop it on my breast. “Just like that. Nice tits on you, too. Are you tall?”
I am short and absolutely stout, but who cares in this moment? Certainly not me. “Tall and blond.”
“Mmm.” He handles my breast, his wrapped palm big enough to practically cover one. When he feels my corset, he slips the ties over his hand and tugs them loose, my breasts spilling out. “Better.”
His bandaged hand against my bare skin makes me suck in a breath. Arousal throbs through me, and I squeeze and pump his cock with my fist, moving harder and faster. My fingers can’t close all the way around his thickness, and I can’t even imagine how that knot will possibly fit inside anyone. Is that why he must pay sex workers? Because no sane woman would put herself through that?
Yet my friend Aspeth has been through a rut with her husband, and she spoke of it quite fondly, blushing the entire time. It can’t be that awful. Boldly, I reach down and grasp his knot with my slippery, lotion-covered hand.
The big Taurian makes a choking sound, his back bowing off the bed.