Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Oliver doesn’t stop. Not even close. He fucks me right through that orgasm and into another one while he holds me down, driving in deeply, relentlessly, every stroke making me wilder, louder, more desperate.
My legs lock around his waist, and I’m clinging for dear life, nails digging into his shoulders like I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I let go. Spoiler: I’m never letting go.
The sound coming out of me is straight-up animalistic. He grunts, savage and hoarse, and pounds into me with an insane rhythm that makes me see actual constellations. Holy crap, he’s not holding back, not even a little. Every thrust leaves me gasping, arching up, desperate to get closer, but Oliver’s got total control. He’s so deep it’s like he’s branding me from the inside out.
“Mine,” he grits, hips slamming into me like he’s trying to ruin me for every other man on the planet. Joke’s on him—I was ruined the second I saw him smirk over a cinnamon roll.
“Yours.” I barely get the words out, but it doesn’t matter. He knows exactly what I need. He fucks me deeper, faster. I can’t even breathe. I’m just gasping, screaming, clawing at his back while he pounds me into the mattress like he’s staking his claim. My pussy clamps down on him, hard, and I shatter all over again, my vision going white as another orgasm blasts through my body. Holy hell, I’m actually seeing stars.
“Fuck, that’s it, come on my cock,” Oliver snarls, his voice hot and desperate in my ear. The words set me off, and my body goes nuclear, locking around him so tightly I can’t even move. I scream his name, wailing like I’m about to break in half, and that’s when he loses it.
He slams deep, brutal, and explodes inside me with a rough groan, his cock pulsing as I milk every last drop from him.
8
oliver
It’s the smell of her that gets me. Sugar and skin, vanilla warmth, maybe a hint of last night’s madness woven into the sheets. I surface from sleep slowly, like I’m dragging myself through honey, and she’s right there—one arm flung across my chest, one silky, perfect thigh tangled between my legs. Cydney is pressed so close it feels like she’s trying to fuse us into one person.
My first thought is I’m dreaming followed closely by don’t fuck it up.
I don’t move, not at first. I just lie here, soaking her in. Her hair is wild, a silky dark mess everywhere, splayed across my pillow and sticking to my neck. Her cheek fits against my chest exactly like it was made for that spot. Her breath is soft and even, little flutters that match the rhythm of my own pulse. She’s wearing nothing at all, and neither am I, but it’s not even about the sex right now. It’s something bigger. Deeper. Like waking up next to her just reset the whole axis of my universe, and I want to wake up just like this every day for the rest of my life.
I drag a hand through her hair, unable to resist. Strands slip through my fingers, silky and warm. She hums in her sleep, snuggling closer, and I swear to God, my heart beats just for her.
She’s really here. In my bed. Wrapped around me like she’s already staked her claim.
I’ve never in my life wanted to hold on to something so badly.
But there’s a knot low in my gut—anxiety, or maybe pure self-sabotage—whispering that it’s all too soon. Maybe I’m bulldozing forward like some desperate idiot? Except, hell, I don’t care. I want her here tomorrow, and the next day, and maybe every goddamn morning after that.
She stirs. Just a tiny shift, bringing her soft curves flush against me. My cock wakes up and hardens. I want to wake her up with my mouth, my hands, every single inch of me, but I force myself to hold still.
Let her sleep, genius. She needs her rest.
I memorize the moment—her, sprawled and content, mouth slightly open, a little line of drool at the corner of her lips. My tough, sassy bakery queen, drooling on my chest and not giving a single fuck who sees. I love it. I want to tease her about it, but not yet.
My pulse slows, matching hers, and for a weird, perfect second, I can almost picture what life would look like if this became a routine. Waking up to sugar and sweat and the scent of her skin, every morning, forever. The thought should terrify me, but it doesn’t. It feels right.
I close my eyes. Just for another minute.
It’s her goddamn phone buzzing that wakes me the fuck up.
She moves slowly, stretching against me like a cat, her entire body arching with pure, unconscious confidence. Her hair fans over my chest, and her leg slides higher, not even close to subtle.