Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
My pants are all: The math ain’t mathing.
God, I hate that saying.
I leave it with just me touching her face. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to wreck her. I don’t want to hurt and wreck the small parts of me that aren’t hurt and wrecked either.
She falls into me, her hands on my shoulders. Then she tilts her face up in my hand, slips her fingers up the column of my neck, and guides my face down to hers.
She shudders against me, whimper-gasps, and touches her lips to mine. It’s so sweet the way she searches, asking permission, giving, and not taking. Her breath skims over my lips, and the tip of her nose touches mine. This still isn’t a proper kiss. I could still turn back.
But no, there’s no turning back.
The only turning back I want to do is realizing just how much I wanted this far sooner than I did.
I tilt my face and claim her mouth. Her lips part beneath mine immediately, her body going lax as my hand slides down to her shoulders and then splays out against her back while the other brackets her waist.
Without warning, she slips her tongue into my mouth. It’s so hot that she’s taking the lead. She strokes mine, kissing me so furiously that our teeth almost knock together.
“God,” she whispers against my lips before she nips the bottom one, tugging it between her teeth until pain blossoms from the bite.
I thought I was hard before.
Now, there’s a destructo-dick in my pants, capable of being used to dismantle… or, I suppose, mantle anything.
“I’ve… this is… wow. The real thing is better than anything I could dream up.”
I want to ask her what she has dreamed about. If she has fantasized about me as she touched herself. If she has orgasmed on her fingers, wishing it were my cock. If she has thought about taking me into her mouth and licking me, sucking me. If she has had dirty thoughts, and how dirty they are.
I want to know, but I’m a gentleman, so I’m not going to ask even though I kind of want to ask. Well, maybe I might ask.
But I don’t get the chance. Because my head reels, and she sends me spiraling out as she drags her teeth along my lip again and then kisses my chin and suckles my throat before she drops to her knees.
She nuzzles her face against my groin, inhaling the scent of leather and me, and all I can think of is thank fucking god these pants are fresh from getting cleaned. Leather is a bitch, but there’s a great place here that works wonders.
She runs her nose over the hard bulge in my pants, and then she parts her lips and mouths me over the leather.
My hand snaps out and grabs the counter before I fall over.
She’s right. A kiss isn’t just a kiss. She wants me. I want her. Though we shouldn’t. I tangle my hand in her hair and tug, not hard, but enough to tilt her face back up so I can see her eyes. I need to know she wants this.
Zero doubts.
Zero regrets.
“Can I?” she breathes, all the green banished from her eyes, the brown now so dark with her pupils that they’re like twin pits sucking me down into their depths. “Can I touch you like this? Can I make you feel good?”
“I thought you had to knead buns,” I joke, just to lower the intensity and save my cock from exploding in my pants like I’m a freaking teenager.
She grins up at me, her whole face suffused with emotion, but there’s a devious tilt to her lips. “I’d rather knead yours.”
If I die, and they write on my headstone: Went into the great beyond at the behest of getting the best blowjob of his life… oh, and did some music stuff too… I wouldn’t even be mad about it.
“Can I devour your roast after?”
“Shhh,” she hisses. “I’m already soaked here and rubbing my thighs together so the seam of my shorts hits all the right places, but I’ll spontaneously come if you don’t stop with that filthy mouth.”
“Should I stop?”
“Nope.” Her grin grows even wider. She’s so beautiful, looking up at me through her thick fringe of lashes, her smile transforming her face into a work of art. “Should I stop?” There’s so much vulnerability there. So much hope. She tries to keep what she feels off her face so it can’t influence my decision, but it’s all there.
My heart squeezes.
It’s nice to be seen for who I am. Just as a man, not as a part of Wilder’s Peril. Not because I can sing or because I can play. Just for me. She knows about my past, and she’s seen me in some pretty rough moments. She thought it was hopeless and chose to leave and try to move on. She doesn’t want fame, money, or connections. She’s doing this simply because it will make me feel good, and when I feel good, it makes her feel good.