Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“Me either,” Skylar whispered, clutching at the bedding, wet warmth rushing to her center in a way she hoped/feared she would always associate with Robbie. “I’m wet, but I’m sore, but I want you anyway . . . ?”
“Thank you, Jesus. I’ll go easy, I swear,” he said hoarsely, reaching between them to tug down the waistband of his briefs, his breath growing more and more scattered, the force of it shifting her hair. “I’m sorry you’re sore, baby,” he mumbled into her neck as he pushed his stiff length inside of her, seating himself fully while she parted her legs a little, just inches apart, enough to allow him another sunken inch, his abs rolling up and over the curve of her backside, back down, up and over again, his flexed forearms coming to rest on either side of her face. Every thrust was a slow, deep journey of him pushing, pushing, pushing, bottoming out with a groan. “I’m sorry I made this soft little pussy hurt after everything it did for me.” He licked a path up the side of her neck, punched his hips with some added strength. “It was hard to be polite after you rode my cock so rough.”
“You loved it,” Skylar said on a shaking exhale, finding she meant it. Was confident in that statement. Confident in herself.
“Loved it? My fucking life flashed in front of my eyes.” Robbie wedged a hand beneath Skylar, sliding it between her sex and the mattress, her mouth falling open at the shiny new available option for friction there. There. There. She flexed her hips and bore down on his fingertips, gasping when he crooked the middle one just a little. Just enough. “Go on, baby. Help yourself come with my fingers. Please. Goddammit. You’re already making my balls hurt. I’d be embarrassed if I could feel anything but you.”
Her sensitivity from last night was almost too much, so much she wanted to shy away from it, but she was too turned on by the bold, hungry man on top of her to deny herself a chance to feel the pleasure he offered her with his rubbing fingers and grinding hips. Those digits rubbed and rubbed until her vision started to double, her teeth catching the meat of the pillow and biting down, her thighs scooting a hint wider of their own accord, the grateful, resounding rumble that went through Robbie serving as her reward.
“Bite down harder, baby. I need a few nasty pumps,” he slurred, his hand flying up to her throat, holding it securely. “Oh my . . . God. Couple more. Okay?”
She nodded, moaned, lifted her butt slightly, her climax reaching its end, but not her need for him. For his touch. His union with her body. That would never run out.
Muscle smacked flesh, breath caught.
“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.” His hand slid up from her throat to her jaw, framing it, squeezing, pushing two of his fingers into her mouth. “I’m sorry, you’re just so fucking good at taking my cock. I’m done. I’m done.”
She did something she never expected to do in her lifetime, then. She smiled like a smug feline as he jerked and shuddered behind her, his unintelligible words fumbling in her ear. His fingers were still in her mouth, so she knew he could feel the smile and she liked that, too. Liked who she was with Robbie.
They collapsed like two toys who’d run out of battery power, Robbie landing beside her in the pillows, looking nothing short of dumbstruck, his big back heaving up and down.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, winded, squinting up at her through one eye. “But we can’t do this for the talent show.”
They finally succeeded in waking up the whole house.
Thankfully, their laughter was the culprit.
“The talent show won’t be until tonight,” she said when their laughter died down, indulging her urge to reach over and twist a lock of red hair around her finger. “What do you want to do all day?”
“Anything, as long as it’s with you.”
Skylar hadn’t held hands with anyone since a group movie date in seventh grade.
She tried not to be obvious now about stealing glances at her hand joined with Robbie’s as they walked through town. After a quick breakfast with her family where she found herself unable to look any of them in the eye longer than half a second, Skylar dressed herself in a white tennis dress her mother had bought her for Christmas one year that had remained in her closet ever since. The form-fitting nylon and the attached short, pleated skirt had always seemed destined for someone flirtier and more feminine, but today, all the once-negative qualities of the dress were positive ones.
She’d left her hair in a barely brushed tumble, and that felt nice, too, not having her mane restricted to a ponytail for once.