Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
An inhuman hiss is all that precedes wild pounding.
Sir’s cock tearing my ass in two mirrors me doing the same to our girl causing her tight, wet pussy to relentlessly drip in satisfaction.
Objection.
Devotion.
Pump on top of pump, I pull her into my strokes.
Match the speed I’m being tugged.
Jerked.
Fucked.
I inch one hand over to ruthlessly rub her swollen clit with the pad of my thumb faster and faster until her entire body is blissfully shaking. “Imcomingggggg!”
Unsatisfied by her first orgasm, I continue stroking, meeting her thrum for thrum.
Pulse for pulse.
Fucking faster and faster as her pussy seemingly swells again and again.
My determination to fulfil Sir’s demand pushes him to match my pacing.
To ferally buck into me so that I buck into her so that her back bows off the mattress.
And her head wildly whips.
And her breath repeatedly hitches every time she attempts to scream.
“Be a good girl for me, baby,” I demand post a sharp hiss myself, head lolling backwards, unconcernedly bumping into his. “Say his name.” Both of Nolan’s fingers demonically dig into my sides, bruising me, controlling the speed of my bouncing on him along with the rate at which I’m bouncing into her. “Say our future husband’s fucking name.”
“Sirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!” soars up her quivering throat to reverberate around the room, unleashing another orgasm so powerful it buckles my knees.
Hunches me forward.
Has me huffing in refusal to come.
Curling my toes into the flooring to hold it back.
“Fuckin’ give her that paintjob,” grunts Sir in tandem with his own thrusting becoming more erratic. “I wanna see our filthy, fucking whore in white long before our wedding day.”
His words crashing into her screams that are echoed by her perpetually pulsing pussy convince me to let go.
Bellow.
Bark.
Bellow again to the point my lungs burn while blistering bursts bury themselves in her deepest depths.
The kicking of my dick, naturally tightens every muscle in my body causing my ass to relentlessly clench down on his cock, milking it, the way she’s milking me. “Fuckkkkkkk,” is attached to an unexpected hand being curled around my throat and his forehead resting against the nape of my neck. “Take that shit like a good, little, filthy fuck.” Cum suddenly begins to spread past my ass cheeks. “Take that shit just like you’re gonna take my last fuckin’ name.”
Chapter 11
Bunny
Why is man ring shopping so fucking hard?
Seriously.
There’s no reason this shit should be this difficult.
Or maybe it’s not?
Maybe it’s just that shopping for our man a ring is difficult.
Which doesn’t make sense.
He himself is quite a simple creature.
His personality spreadsheet is probably the easiest I’ve ever navigated.
He loves beer – lighter in the fall, darker in the winter.
Loves to build – more things for the home than shit under the hood I’m learning.
Loves food – grilling or just eating are both acceptable options but baking is not.
And lastly – however not least – fucking.
And I mean fucking, not “making love”.
That’s not his preferred anything…ever.
He loves being the one to fuck or being the one fucked or even watching us fuck but he does not care for slow and gentle and stretched out softness during sex.
I’ll admit it though.
It is sweet watching him try that shit for Kid.
Me.
I honestly think I need it less than him, but what matters is that we all try to provide one another with what they want versus just ourselves.
Which is an impressive feat considering there are three people’s feelings to constantly be sorting through.
Light grumbles begin to my left prompting me to redirect my attention away from my phone to where Kid is stirring awake beside me. The sight of him giving his unkempt, black hair its usual morning ruffle effortlessly pulls a crooked grin to my face.
Mutt is simple; however, Kid is not.
Sure, at first glance, it’s easy to conclude he likes cars.
Like…lives and breathes cars.
But when you really get into the different tabs of his psyche you see something else.
He – in a weird way – is a car.
Straightforward.
Mechanical.
Predictable.
You look at it and understand the basics.
It’s gonna drive.
It’s gonna get you from point A to B.
It needs an engine and means to make it go.
Again.
Pretty elementary.
Yet in the same breath it’s so complex and crafty.
Intricate and intense.
Simultaneously, a work of art as well as a seemingly simplistic machine.
It’s like a never-ending list of data to sort.
I love it.
I love him.
Fuck, I love them both.
I love them both and am so grateful they found me.
Kept me.
Fought for me.
With me.
I don’t know why but the with me part matters more to me.
Heartwarming sensations soar through my system pushing me to switch my phone to my left hand.
Stretch over my right.
Gently brush strands away on his forehead, ultimately receiving happy hums alongside his bleary gaze. “Morning, baby.”
Tenderness deepens to the point where it can be undeniably heard in my tone. “Morning.”
Kid lovingly captures my fingers to plant a kiss on my knuckles. “You sleep okay?”