Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“There you are,” he growled against my thigh, pressing a soft kiss there before pulling away.
When he crawled up the bed between my thighs, my heart hitched.
His cock dragged along the bed linens, trailing precum the entire way.
Lucky sheets.
“Put your cock in me,” I begged.
His eyes were humor-filled as he said, “Yes, ma’am.”
He notched the head of his cock at my entrance and circled it, coating himself with my wetness.
When he was nice and wet, he slid the tip in until it caught, then pulled back out.
He did this over and over again until I was so full of him I thought I’d never be the same again.
Death by dick.
That was what was going to happen.
And what a way to go…
“I’m so full,” I breathed.
He groaned, pressing his face against my throat. “I’m only halfway.”
I shivered at his words.
“Are you sure?” I teased breathlessly.
“Fairly fuckin’ sure.” He groaned. “I don’t have a tape measure or anything, but I can definitely feel.”
I hooked my feet around his thighs and pulled.
He gave me a little bit more.
“Oh god,” I replied. “How about now?”
“You got maybe half an inch,” he panted.
“Try now,” I urged, arcing my back.
He did, pulling back slightly and pushing a little farther back in.
“Shit.”
“Are you sure that you’re not all the way in?” I pushed.
He caught my hand and brought it down between us.
Guiding my hand, he wrapped it around the part of his dick that wasn’t buried in my pussy.
It was quite a bit.
Enough that my entire fist could lay comfortably on it.
“Dang,” I said, pumping his cock and tightening my core muscles.
He groaned.
I pushed him backward, and he pulled out of me, giving me the space that I asked for.
I pushed him onto his back, then went for his cock.
My mouth circled the tip, and his hands fisted in my hair. “Oh, fuck.”
I tasted myself along his length, trailing sloppy, wet kisses along him until I was certain he was wet enough.
Covering his cock with as much of my mouth as I could, I sucked hard, letting my saliva flow.
“No more,” he urged. “I won’t make it.”
We couldn’t have that, could we?
I crawled over the top of him, settled my pussy against his cock and ground myself on top of him.
When his cock head found its way to my entrance, I reached backward and fisted it before guiding him inside of me.
It took some work, but a whole lot less of it than earlier.
When I was down on top of him fully, my ass against the top of his thighs, his eyes squeezed shut and the veins in his neck bulged.
“Trying to wrangle back that control?” I teased.
He cursed me.
I started to ride him in long, deep strokes.
Taking him the way that I knew my body needed.
“Fuck,” he growled, tensing underneath me.
I smiled as I closed my eyes, chasing the feeling that was building up inside of me.
My belly tightened, and my pussy started to clench.
“Oh god,” Odin growled. “You better be close, because I’m about to fill you so full.”
I was.
Not that I told him.
My belly clenched.
So close.
Soooo close.
I chased it, grinding and fucking him.
“I’m coming.” He pulled me down tight and took over.
The orgasm I’d been chasing changed, and not for the worse.
For the better.
When he took over, he fucked me in long, hard, deep strokes.
Exactly where I needed him to be.
“Fuck!” he bellowed.
Hot splashes of his cum entering my pussy was all I needed to fall over the edge.
My face now rested on top of his as he fucked us both through our orgasm.
My breath intermingled with his, and my eyes were clenched shut so the only thing I could do was feel.
“Oh, baby,” I breathed as my orgasm kept going.
And going.
And going.
“Holy shit.” He clenched one hand on my ass cheek and squeezed.
And then we were both still, trying to recover from something that was likely never recoverable in the first place.
It was long moments later, as I was running my fingers through his hair, that he finally broke the silence.
“I dye my hair every month,” he said. “Well, I bleach it then dye it. I hate it.”
“What color was your hair before?” I asked, running the fingertips of my right hand over the hair on his chest.
“Light brown,” he answered. “It got blond if I was outside a lot in the summer. But not this blond.”
“I’ll have to look up an old photo of you,” I said. “I can’t picture you with any other color of hair than this.”
He grunted. “Won’t look the same at all.”
My brows rose. “I mean, sure, hair changes quite a bit but not that much.”
He took my hand and guided my fingers over his jaw.
An almost invisible scar had my fingers freezing.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Surgical scar,” he answered. “Had plastic surgery on my face. Since I mostly wore a beard, I couldn’t just grow one like the other guys did. And there were enough people that knew me with and without that I had no other course of action. I had to get the surgery to change my appearance.”