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)
We talk more about our school years, my time at Eaton with the pranks and punishments, and her time in high school, where she was so painfully introverted that she kept to herself until she got to college and met her best friend, Sandy.
“She sounds like pure chaos,” I comment with a smile as I listen to their escapades.
Lauren nods in agreement. “She is, but I love her to death.”
I nod, my chin brushing her hair, and the conversation flows, easy, natural, until the water cools and the bubbles fade.
“Quick fuck in the shower?” I ask cheekily, and she nods, her smile sly, promising.
We step out, the marble floor cold, and move to the glass-walled shower. I turn the water on, hot and steaming, and we step under it, the spray cascading over us, slicking her hair to her back, her skin gleaming. She’s close, her hands on my chest, and I can’t resist, my cock stirring, hardening, as her fingers trail lower, brushing me. I groan, and she smiles, wicked, and then we’re kissing, hard, urgent, the water pounding around us, drowning out everything but her.
I lift Lauren, and her legs wrap tightly around my waist. Her thighs are slick with water and slip against my hips, the sensation like silk sliding over steel, igniting every nerve. I press her against the shower wall, the marble tiles cool and smooth against her back, a stark contrast to the burning heat of her body, her skin glistening, water streaming down her curves, catching the dim light like liquid diamonds.
Her breasts, full and heavy, press against my chest; her nipples are hard enough to poke my skin, and I’m consumed, my pulse hammering, my cock throbbing with need. I grab her breasts, my hands rough and greedy, cupping their weight, my thumbs circling those slick nipples, pebbled under the water’s flow, and she gasps.
“Oh fuck!” Her voice is sharp, desperate, echoing off the tiles, cutting through the hiss of the spray.
I lower my mouth hungrily, my lips closing around one nipple, sucking hard, the taste of her skin—clean, warm, faintly salty from sweat—flooding me, driving me wild. My tongue flicks, teasing, then presses flat, lapping at the bud, drawing it deeper, my teeth grazing just enough to make her arch, her back bowing off the wall, her cry—“Hugh, yes, God,”—ringing in my ears, raw and unrestrained. Her skin is so slippery, so soft, the water making every touch glide, every curve slick under my palms as I knead her other breast.
Her shudder thrills me.
Her nails clawing my shoulders, scraping red trails that sting under the hot spray, the pain a sharp edge to the pleasure coursing through me. I suck harder, my mouth working her nipple until it’s swollen and sensitive. I don’t stop until I’m drunk on her, until I’ve had my fill, even though it’s never enough, not with her, not this.
I enter her, my cock sliding into her heat, tight and slick, her walls pulling me in, gripping me like a vise.
“Hugh, oh God that feels good. Oh, please…”
Her voice is a desperate plea that sets my blood on fire, even as the water cascades over us and pools where our bodies meet. I pound into her, hard and relentless, my hips slamming, driving deep.
Her breasts bounce with each thrust, and I grab them again, my hands slipping over her slippery skin, squeezing, my thumbs pinching her nipples, still sensitive from my mouth, making her gasp.
Her head is thrown back and water streams down her exposed throat. Her moans blend with the water’s roar. I thrust faster, brutal, unyielding, the rhythm savage, my cock buried in her, again and again. Her walls flutter, and then she comes, shaking uncontrollably.
“Fuck me, Hugh, I’m—” Her scream is cut off by her own gasp as her walls clench around me, milking me, pulling me in.
I’m close, so close, my balls tightening, the heat coiling low, but I hold on, gritting my teeth, wanting this to last, wanting to feel her slippery inner walls for a little while longer, feel her trembling frame, and hear her voice crying my name for just a moment longer, because this—her, us, this fire…is everything.
Eventually, I let go and let the pleasure take me. And what a pleasure it is.
I wait for a while to allow her to recover, then we step out of the shower stall. I grab a towel and relish the act of drying her, my hands lingering on her hips, her breasts, her thighs, her skin soft and beautifully flushed. It amuses me that she is still barely able to stand because her legs are so weak. Finding a hair dryer, I blow-dry her golden hair, my fingers combing through the damp strands of silk.
I’ve never done this with a woman before, and the act is surprisingly intimate to me, a contrast to the fire we just burned through. She leans into me, her eyes half-closed, and we’re silent, just breathing, just being, the night fading around us, leaving only us in that great big manor.