Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Just the tip, I tell myself. Just try it and see how far you can get.
I’m a woman who likes to set difficult goals for herself. I’m also one who usually accomplishes them because I don’t quit until I have.
Riggs steps closer, and I bend forward, letting my tongue circle his tip. He gathers my hair into his hand, holding it out of my way so he can watch as I take him into my mouth. He doesn’t move, doesn’t try to feed me more or push my head down. He simply stands there and lets me lead, groaning about how good my lips feel wrapped around him. He’s gentle yet not submissive, but not forceful and rough the way Maddox is. The contrast is addictive, feeding two sides of me I didn’t even know existed.
And slowly, I relax and start to take him deeper. I hold him at the entrance to my throat, swallowing reflexively, and I’m rewarded by the taste of more of his salty-sweet precum. The thought runs through my mind that if I’m successfully stretching my mouth to take him, I can for sure take him in my pussy, given I can feel the slickness coating my thighs again.
When else am I going to have a chance like this? With two men? With a dick like this? Poetry could be written about Riggs’s dick. Or maybe warning labels, but carpe diem. Or carpe dickem in this case, I think with a small internal giggle.
I release him from my mouth, wiping at the saliva coating my lips, and look up at Riggs. “Fuck me.” Remembering what Maddox said, I move to lie back on the bed, my head on the pillows like the princess they’re making me feel like as Riggs pushes his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off. He follows me onto the bed, crawling over me like a lion on the prowl.
His gaze is heavy, hot, and promises dark, dirty things. I want each and every one of them. He takes a wrapper from Maddox, who helpfully pulled a condom from somewhere, and sheathes himself before lifting my legs up, opening me up fully until I’m as wide as I can get, and notching at my entrance. “Just relax. Breathe and relax.”
Riggs begins to stretch me deliciously, slow thrust by slow thrust, and though it feels on the verge of being too much, he never rushes, never crosses over the line into pain, sliding more and more of the monster he calls a dick into me. He lowers down to one elbow, his other hand on my hip holding me still. “If you move, I’m gonna blow, and I really want more than a second inside you. I swear I can last longer than I’m about to.” I laugh lightly, and the movement eases the last bit of resistance my body was giving him. “Fuck, that’s all of me.”
“It had damn well better be,” I quip back, groaning and writhing beneath him.
“Am I hurting you? What do you need?” he asks, instantly on alert.
He says he’s on the edge of coming too soon, but even then, he’s worried about me, being caring and sweet. “Move,” I tell him. “Fuck me, please.”
Oh, shit. The word slipped out, not as the polite manners I was raised to have and coached to present myself with, but as a plea. There’s no denying that I’m begging for Riggs to fuck me.
He pulls back the slightest bit and then pushes forward again, and God, it feels so good. So full. I feel his eyes tracing over my face and drag my gaze to his, nodding that I’m okay. I see the worry fall off his shoulders like a visible weight. “You’re fucking amazing. You know that, right?”
“So I’ve been told,” I tease, wrapping my feet over his legs and lifting my hips to meet him.
“Goddamn it, it’s like you were made for us,” Maddox grunts. I cut my eyes over to find him still standing at the bedside, watching us as he strokes his once again stiff cock.
How is he hard again? Hasn’t he heard of one and done? I suspect neither of these two men have heard of that.
“Or you were made for me,” I suggest coyly.
The truth is, this is just a perfect one-time experience, a secret story I’ll replay in my mind on lonely nights to remind myself that I’m not always the picture-perfect Harrington everyone thinks I am. I’m more than my last name, more than the one my whole family turns to for hard truths, decisive action plans, and shrewd thinking. I’m a woman, with needs and wants and desires that I too often ignore in favor of putting other people first. Their project, their deadlines, their bottom lines.
But tonight is all about me. And the men worshiping me.