Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Cradling him closer to me.
Anchoring me to him.
Welding our frames like the metalwork we were arguing about while watching the sunrise this morning.
Desperation to devour him leads to everything else completely fading away. I no longer hear the buzzing – which has most likely stopped altogether – or the credits music to the TV show. I no longer smell sugary treats or the even more sugary wine. I don’t see the band-aid wrapped around my finger from where I nicked it while shaving in the shower. In fact, the only thing I can do is feel.
Feel the way his strong, wet muscle rolls around mine in dizzying circles.
And feel the way fingers bury themselves into my strands as if afraid to let me get away.
And feel the way his cock curiously nudges upward for an invitation to be touched.
Or tasted.
Or rode.
Needy whines freely seep from me over the idea, shaking my entire body, causing me to unintentionally grind against his shaft. Tucker hungrily groans louder and feverishly lashes his tongue around, punishing me for teasing or perhaps begging me for more.
Being led by what I feel vs what I’m overthinking – a very rare occurrence for me – is why my hips start feverishly rocking to mimic the pacing my mouth is anxiously trying match. Friction steadily builds on its own, sloppily piling one toe curling sensation on top of another, yet when his left hand grants itself access under the edge of my skirt to palm my ass, a wave of uncontrollable pulsations rips throughout me to the point our mouths are broken apart.
I pant and plant my fingers into the back of his locks.
I cry out his name.
I mindlessly thrust myself harder into the orgasm I’m embarrassed to already be in the middle of.
“That’s right,” Tucker encourages around his own labored breathing. “Show me that inner Goddess, baby.”
New bursts of shudders bow my back.
“Show me how well you can come on my cock.”
Whether it’s the naughty wording or the tone or primal delivery that pushes me to keep grinding I’m unsure. Intemperate whimpers transition into incessant moans that are accompanied by my knees knocking into his hips. Instead of grabbing my ass with both hands to further assist in the process, he glides the other down the front of my shirt. Runs the pad of his calloused thumb against my nipple.
Squeezes.
Switches to the other side at the same time he praises, “You’re doing so good. Keep that shit up.” The lightest tug is executed. “Come for me again.” Another gentle yet possessive pull occurs. “Let me come for you.”
Now, ravenous and rapacious, I pounce his lips, sinking my teeth into his bottom one for me to suck and stroke and stroke and nip during my wild bucking. His dick repeatedly swells against my soaking wet panties, relishing in the minor sensations it can soak in despite the fabric barrier, the same way I’m obsessively riding every inch I can reach. Our tongues randomly twist and tangle with his hot breathed accolades bounced off his swollen lips in between the frenetic whirls.
Burning aches spread through my knees due to the continuous crashing into the ground, promising to leave behind bruises and scratches and scrapes; however, the only burn I can fathom giving a shit about is the one roaring out of control.
The one reaching white hot temperatures as my clit is granted more and more caresses.
A second round of undeniable bliss begins to blaze between my legs inspiring me to shout, “I’m coming!”
“Yeah,” Tucker wolfishly grunts, his own lower half hastily darting up to meet mine, “do that shit again for me, June. Paint me yours.” Shutting my eyes on another scream mindlessly happens. “Let me paint you mine.”
Searing hot streams grazing my pussy on the other side of the material are accompanied by his strong palm, pinning me in place, forcing me to take the savage claiming.
Surrender to it.
Maybe letting go for a few weeks won’t be the end of the world.
Who knows.
It might cost me this job but possibly give me something so much better.
Chapter 7
Tucker
June defiantly folds her arms across the mint green summer dress aka the only colorful thing I’ve seen her wear in our twelve days together. Sadly, the new bruises she tends to sprout along with the bright red face from being embarrassed are the biggest accents to her wardrobe. “You have to go, Tuck.”
Mimicking her posture is instantly done in spite of the fact it has me smearing spray paint residue across my chest. “I don’t.”
“But like…you do.”
“But like…I don’t.”
“Come on, Tucker. You have to go! You have to go the place with the big table and the things they give you to poke at stuff!”
Against my own volition, I briefly smirk. “You mean salad forks?”
“I mean,” she squawks in a fluster, “you’re going!”