Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
He thrusts at a rough, hypnotic tempo. Since I’ve already come once, the friction and sensitivity sends me so fast.
My eyes threaten to roll back.
“Look at me.” He has two bunches of my hair. Holding my head, he’s guiding my line of sight downward. “See what I’m doing to your cunt?”
He flexes in and out, and I watch his veined shaft disappear inside me. I’m surprised I’m not falling apart. It feels like he has all of me, to do whatever he wants with me, and I am more than happy—and trusting—to place myself in Rocky’s care.
His lips press to the top of my head, and I feel him muffling a “fuck” and grunted groan into my hair. Then he kisses my temple and yanks my hair, causing my scalp to tingle. Ah yes, yes! I don’t just love this.
I love him.
He rams deeper. “Can you keep taking my cock, Phebs? Think your little pussy can handle me? Because I’m not so fucking sure.”
“Yes, and fuck you,” I whisper-moan.
He clutches my face while pounding inside me. “No, fuck you.” Our glares make brutal love, and he thrusts so quickly, I see stars. His hand shields my mouth while my body jostles against him, while his heavy breath is the only sound in the tensed, pleasured air.
Rapidly, he’s unbuckling the belt while he’s thrusting. He frees my arms in milliseconds, but I’m weak as I ascend toward another climax—only able to loosely hold his neck. He takes me off the counter. He has me in his strong arms and melds me to his muscled chest. He bounces me on his cock and then flexes up into me.
This is too much, and yet, I want more. I fear it’ll all stop.
His forehead is on mine. He’s chasing after the heady look in my eyes. I almost scream out his name, but somehow, it’s lost in the haze as I clench around him. Coming in powerful, electric waves.
I gasp into his muscled shoulder.
I feel his cock twitch inside me, and he milks the climax by arching up into me. Once we’re done, he picks me off him and carefully sets me on my feet.
I stumble back against the fridge. Holy shit. That was…wow. I think I finally understand the term fuck your brains out, because I can hardly think straight right now.
He discards the full condom in a paper towel, then throws it in the trash bin. He washes and dries his hands in the sink. Thankfully, I’m not the only one speechless. He’s catching his breath, and when our eyes meet across the kitchen, we both start to smile.
I haven’t had much time to think about what our relationship or sex life would look like together. I probably hoped it’d be this fulfilling, but never, in my wildest dreams, did I think it’d be this fun.
I manage to whisper, “I honestly wasn’t sure if anything could top our first time together.” Where I came four times.
“This beat it?”
I shrug. “Came close.” I pull down my tee. “You’ll have to try harder next time.”
“I’d believe you were flirting with me if you didn’t sound so snide.” He wears a sexy smile, and he runs his fingers through his sweaty hair.
I don’t know why I’m blushing.
What’s happening to me?
Rocky squats at my feet and picks up my panties. He’s about to put them on for me, and my pulse races.
I start to say, “I can…” do it myself.
Yes, I am fully capable of putting on my own panties, but I falter. Because maybe I don’t hate the idea of Rocky being sweet after a rough fuck.
He’s waiting for my response. What I choose might set the standard for our relationship going forward. What if I pick wrong? What if seven years from now, I regret shutting him down, and I’m going to wish Rocky dressed me after he undressed me because he’ll never try again?
He’s about to stand up.
“Wait.” I stop him.
He’s assessing. “You want me to or not?”
“Well, when you say it like that,” I bite back.
A smile flickers across his face. “We’re not solving world hunger here, Phebs. It’s not that serious.”
I ease back against the fridge, and I nod, seeing this isn’t going to make or break the situation between us. What do you want from him, Phoebe? “Yeah. You can,” I murmur.
He helps shimmy my panties up my legs, then my hips. Letting them ride high. He stands opposite me, his hand on my waist, and tension weaves between us, making the air thicker. It’s hard to breathe.
“You’re killing me,” he whispers into a frustrated growl, then he breaks apart to collect his clothes. I find my sweatpants, too.
“I could spend the night at your place.” I suggest the boathouse he’s renting in case we want to hook up again. Less chance of anyone discovering us.