Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I reach for his cock and feed it into my throat. He leans forward onto the bed, reaching for my pussy. His fingers work through my folds as he slides into my mouth, gentle but unrelenting.
“Fuck, Lucy. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
I know what he’s thinking. It’s too much. It’s too good. But all I want is more.
He works his fingers over and over, and his cock slides in and out of my mouth. It gets so deep I don’t know if I can take much more, but when he shifts out, I want him back immediately.
I feel crazed with lust for this man. Like I’d do anything he asked of me. My hips twist as the pleasure builds, and I know I’m losing control. There are too many sensations to handle, so many parts of my body responding to his.
And it’s as if he knows, because he steps away, sheaths his cock in another condom and rearranges me so I’m lying in front of him again, my legs either side of his.
“Again,” he says. I nod in agreement. I’m not sure how long I can survive fucking like this, but I know I can’t if we ever stop.
He slides into me, and all the noise, all the overwhelming sensation, all the chaos disappears. It’s just Hunter and me, together. And it feels perfect.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lucy
I’ve taken the entire week off from work to fly up to Boston and help with any last-minute preparations, and to support Katherine in her last few days as my single sister. People have only just started arriving in town for the four days of celebrations.
If I get married, I’m sure Mom won’t put herself through the trouble of a four-day carnival. And I can’t say I’ll be sorry. Katherine seems more stressed than she should be when everyone is gathering to celebrate her and Ed.
“Are you ready?” Katherine asks as she bursts into my room. “You know the car is here in five minutes.”
“Yeah, I’m ready.” At least I think I am. Usually I wear my hair up for work and down and straight when I go out. Katherine inherited the glossy hair gene, and no matter how hard I try, mine never looks as sleek as hers. But tonight, I’ve embraced my kink. In my hair, that is. I bought some curl enhancer the other day, and tonight I’ve scrunched it up and gone big. My hair isn’t super curly. It’s an in-between kind of wavy that’s neither one thing nor another. I’m used to fighting against the texture. Today, for the first time since I discovered straighteners, I’m embracing it.
“Wow, I love your hair,” Katherine says. “It’s very . . .” My stomach drops as she struggles to find the words. Does she have to work that hard to find a compliment? “Shakira! That’s who I was trying to think of. You’re a dark-haired Shakira.”
Better Shakira than the lead singer in an eighties soft-rock band.
I stand and Katherine gasps. “You look beautiful,” she says. “Different from your usual, but sexy.”
I glance down at the new dress I bought on a whim this week. It’s not normally the kind of thing I’d go for. And frankly, if it were the multigenerational rehearsal dinner, I wouldn’t be wearing it tonight. But Mom and Dad are going out with the oldies while we go out with their kids. My dress is nude and tighter than I’d normally wear, with spaghetti straps and a hemline that definitely covers my ass but wouldn’t qualify as midthigh. “Too sexy?” I glance up at Katherine, who’s wearing white linen trousers and a pretty camisole.
“Absolutely not,” she says. “This is the night when it’s just our friends hanging out. The young ones.” She looks excited. Like the pressure is off for the first time in a while. “Are you looking forward to seeing Hunter?”
My face flushes with heat at her question. Seeing Hunter is all I’ve been able to think about all day. It’s the first time I’ll have seen him since we met for lunch before I flew up to Massachusetts. It’s the longest I’ve gone without seeing him since he and I turned into . . . something.
“Sure,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Do you two actually see each other than at lunchtime?”
“Sure,” I repeat. I have to force myself to go home every other night rather than stay at his place. If I’m in his bed, we won’t sleep much. I still have to function at work. But even when we’re in different apartments, it’s like we’re never apart. When we aren’t together, my head is full of him. My body can still feel him. It’s like he’s always with me.
“Have you had sex yet?”
“Sure,” I say again, grabbing my clutch from my childhood bed. Referring to it as “sex” doesn’t seem to give it enough emphasis. I’ve had sex before, but I haven’t had what Hunter and I share.