Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
She hovers by the bed, fingers curled around the edge of her dress. It’s adorable. I want to eat her alive, and also—impossibly—I want to slow time down and watch every micro-expression ripple through her.
I cross to her, take her face in both hands, and kiss her. At first, it’s soft: a question she can walk away from. But she doesn’t walk—she leans into me, opens her mouth, and the taste of her lips is tart and electric. When I deepen it, her hands come up around my neck, uncertain at first, then stronger, as if she’s daring herself to need me.
I pull her tighter, hands sliding down the long line of her back. She’s trembling, but not with fear—more like the shudder of a wire strung too tight. I break the kiss, rest my forehead on hers. “You okay?” I say, voice low.
She nods, just once, but her breath comes in rapid, shallow bursts.
I slide my hands under her thighs, and she jumps a little as I hoist her up. She’s weightless. Her legs go around my waist, locking behind me, skirt riding high up her hips. She buries her face in my neck, and I feel her teeth graze my skin, a little gasp. I spin her, set her gently on the bed.
She sits there, knees together, hands folded in her lap, eyes huge and innocent. I want to devour her and also shield her from everything bad in the world. Instead, I stare for a moment at the golden girl before turning quickly. “I’ll be right back,” I tell her, and slip into the attached en suite to wash my hands. The damned salt from the Marcona almonds is everywhere, and I don’t want to soil her ivory flesh with harsh crystals.
It takes all of twenty seconds, but when I return, Andie’s moved. Her purse is on the nightstand, its flap hanging open, and her dress is still on, but she looks softer, as if she’s shed a layer of armor in the two minutes I’ve been gone.
I sit on the bed beside her. She doesn’t look at me, just at her hands.
“Sweetheart,” I say, and tip her chin up so she has to meet my eyes. “Do you want me to keep going?”
She hesitates, then nods.
I start with the zipper at her side, slow and careful. The fabric parts with the faintest whisper. I slip the straps from her shoulders, one after the other, exposing the perfect shell of her collarbone and the faintest blush of pink at the tips of her breasts. She’s wearing a bra, pale blue, cheap but pretty, and it makes her seem even more naked.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, and it’s not a line. She flushes, but doesn’t look away.
I ease the dress down her body, past her hips, and let it puddle on the floor. I take her hands and guide her up, turning her to face me. I unhook her bra, slow, watching her face the whole time. She’s scared and excited, breathing fast.
When the bra falls away, her breasts are enormous, with pink nipples that peak in the cold air. She’s so beautiful that I moan low in my throat before touching one, just a fingertip, and she shivers all over.
“You’re so sensitive,” I growl. “I like that. What size are these?” I ask, pulling at a hard tip. She closes her eyes for a moment, loving the tug on her sensitive peak, and then manages to say, “They’re Double D’s. My tits started growing early and by eighth grade, they were this big. It was hellish.”
“I’ll bet you were irresistible to the boys,” I growl before leaning forward to lick a pink tip.
She lets out a gasp of pleasure, and I smell it then - the unescapable scent of female desire. Her pussy must be sweltering, and I smile devilishly.
I run my hands down her ribcage, over her hips, to the waistband of her underwear. It’s cotton, printed with tiny blue hearts. I almost laugh at the sweet panties, but the tenderness of it hits me in the teeth.
“May I?” I ask, thumb hooked in the elastic.
She nods.
I slip them down, revealing the tiny patch of pale blonde hair at the top, and then the beauty that I’ve been waiting for. Her pussy is swollen and glistening, and looks so tight that it’s probably painful. I kneel, kiss her hipbone, and run my hands along the inside of her thighs.
She’s shaking now, both legs vibrating like I’ve run a current through them.
“Lie back,” I say, and she does, arms splayed and hair a golden river over my sheets.
I open her thighs and just stare for a moment at the beautiful pussy before me. She’s wet already, but not dripping—just a little glisten at the seam. Her clit is hooded, shy, and her lips are pale pink, pressed together so tight it looks like they might refuse me.