Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
God, I’m so wet.
I feel it—warm and slick, spilling out slowly, and running down my thighs. A thick drip I can’t stop. I know it’s on his lips and smeared all over his chin, but he doesn’t seem to care at all—just keeps going, sucking me relentlessly, like a ravenous man who has finally found food after days of starving in the wilderness. Like his life depends on it. My breath hitches, breaking into gasps, soft then louder, and my whole body shivers as heat pools unbearably between my legs.
The slow, deep ache builds and builds, starting low and spreading through me. It’s heavy and it pulses like a living thing. My toes curl against the floor, and I whimper helplessly. Quiet, little sounds that I can’t hold back. He sucks harder, lips tight, tongue pressing deep, and I feel the edge of the abyss creeping up. Slow, but unstoppable. My thighs tremble, wet with my slick trails sliding down, and I’m gripping his hair so tight my hands ache.
The orgasms come upon me like a dream. Slow at first, a shudder rolling through me, then hard, crashing, and I climax—a cry spills out, loud, raw, tearing from deep inside me. My body quakes, slow waves shaking me apart, and I’m leaning heavily against the wall, panting, shuddering, my sex pulsing crazily under his mouth.
He pulls back, leaving me slick and wrecked.
He rises, slow, his hands sliding up my arms, rough palms grazing my skin, leaving a faint burn where they touch. His fingers curl under my elbows, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing. His chest is pressed close, and his hot, triumphant breath brushes my neck. His heartbeat is a slow thud against me. My legs dangle limply, as he carries me—each step deliberate.
The sofa looms ahead, old and sagging, but right now it looks like the most luxurious divan. Fit for a king. He lowers me onto it, his arms flexing under my weight. The springs groan deep in the frame as we sink in. The weight of us settling into the worn fabric of the cushion causes it to tear. It smells like dust and old wood.
My breathing is slow and ragged, my chest rising and falling unevenly. My ribs are aching and my skin is tingling, alive, every nerve raw. He shifts beside me, slow, his body a shadow over mine, and his hand drops into his pocket. He takes out a condom, looks at it, then tosses it on the floor. It melts into all the junk. His fingers work the buckle of his belt. A quiet clink, metal on metal—then he peels his pants off. The fabric slides down his hips quickly, rustling faintly, down his gleaming thighs and pools at his feet. He steps out, bare as the day he was born. Moonlight spills through the small windows, pale and cold, catching him just right, and I see his cock; huge, thick, gorgeous, and the biggest I’ve ever laid eyes on. It hangs heavy, curved just right, the skin taut and smooth, veins gloriously angry under the milky surface.
A quiet gasp of awe slips out of my mouth, and my chest tightens with a slow squeeze of excitement. My mind drifts lazily to Sandy’s dumb research about British guys—and I almost laugh, a huff caught in my throat, but it dies fast, snagged by the sight of him, raw and real in front of me.
For a moment, he stands still, hips slightly slanted, and lets me look at the impressiveness of his thick, solid, and pulsing cock in the bluish-white light. It seems alive in the shadows. The girth, wider than my wrist, the head flushed dark, a wet bead at the tip catches the moon’s glow and glistens like a pearl. I stare greedily, mouth dry, lips parted, and my tongue presses my teeth, slow, like I can taste the air.
Then he steps closer, one foot then the other. The sound is a quiet pulse in my ears. He kneels over me, straddling my hips, his hand sliding down to grip my sex in his palm, warm, firm, thumbs pressing into my skin, slow circles that make me shift. I feel his cock brushing against me, not in yet, just there, heavy against my thigh, teasing and slow. The heat of his cock seeps into me as it rests there, pressing soft, promising more, dragging the moment out.
Now, once again, a sane voice in my head tells me to fight. Before it’s too late, but for some reason I’m unable to speak or move. It feels as though he's drugged me or something, and I am powerless, only able to watch as he has his way with me. I am somewhat panicked by my own helplessness, but even I know that’s just silly.