Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Hungry whimpers reverberate around the kitchen prior to Gillian accelerating her speed.
What was initially slow and precise and leisurely becomes swift and sloppy and gluttonous with my dick relentlessly diving deeper.
Each shallow thrust causes her slick, white hot muscles to constrict.
Contract.
Choke her along with me.
Breathing is no longer in the playbook for either of us yet neither of us seems to care.
Not when every shudder that shoots down her spine sprints up mine.
Not when her gasps have her throat grasping my dick tighter and tighter.
Not when the globs of spit spilling onto her lips become the perfect paint to brand my number onto her face.
“That’s it, baby,” is groaned through gritted teeth as I begin to draw a three. “Keep goin’.” Additional streams slide down my balls, caressing them like the ice does my skates. “Keep gaggin’.” Her entire body jerks and so does my shaft, desperate to paint the twitching territory white. “You look so fuckin’ hot, Slayer.” More drool is dragged over to begin the five. “You look so fuckin’ perfect wearin’ my number like this…”
The realization that that’s what I’m composing on her cheek pushes her to bob faster.
Frenziedly.
Turn her teasing scratches into savage scrapes that result in my bare toes doing the same to the cold floor.
“Fuck…” airily bounces around the room as my nuts jump upward, determined to catch every little drop my thumb misses. “You gonna swallow, Slayer?” She sucks a little harder. Greedier. Damn near becomes unhinged. “You gonna swallow for thirty-five?”
Clamping down the muscles in her throat at the same time she does her nails in my leg are the top cheddar combo I can’t block even if I wanted to.
“Holyyyshitttttt…” I shakily whisper alongside the swelling of my shaft. “HolyshitSlayer.” One spurt is instantaneously chased by a second. A third. “Swallow me, Gilly.” The next blurs my vision and buckles my knees. “Swallow me like only my woman can.”
Despite the increasing sensitivity, I keep my cock buried in her throat, moaning and groaning and grunting to the same incessant rate she’s still sucking.
Still struggling for more air.
“Thayneeeeeee!” abruptly shouts Bronny, accompanied by the sound of the front door aggressively slamming behind him, a combination that leads to me knocking over the container of cold cream I just made into the sink. “Thayyyneeee!”
Gilly scrambles to her feet to clean her face with a random dish towel while I do my best to wiggle my lime green sweats back into place.
One handed.
Thank The Great One I’ve got remarkable dexterity or otherwise he’d have a pretty good faceoff position for arguing about dicks being out in the kitchen.
“Thayyyneeeee!” my little brother continues screaming as he comes barreling around the corner. “Thayyyneee!”
“Why are you howlin’ my name louder than you did when you discovered what foalin’ was?” I mirthfully grouse at the same time I reach over to turn the sink on.
“We have a prob!”
“You mean besides your screechin’ ruining my homemade pumpkin creamer?”
“A real prob!”
“First off, stop shoutin’,” is commanded over the running water. “And second, where’re your manners?” Tossing him a glower occurs the instant he arrives on the other side of the island across from me. “Greet Gillybean.” I flick off the faucet. “You weren’t raised in a barn.”
Bronny dramatically sighs, turns his attention to the woman beside me, cordially states, “Hey Gilly.”
“Hi Bronny,” she warmly says prior to leaning forward onto her palms. “What’s the problem?”
“Explosion emoji, question mark, question mark!”
“It’s like tryin’ to decipher what Eddie Vedder is singin’ sometimes.”
“Difficult but you love it anyway?” Gilly sweetly teases, pulling my gaze to hers.
It’s impossible not to lean over and brush my lips adoringly against her. “You’re made me for me, you know that?”
“I do,” she coos in return on a soft peck.
“Prob.Lem!” the teen loudly erupts again. “Huge!”
We redirect our stare back to him, yet I’m the one that does the additional investigating. “What is it?”
“We gotta make a mum!”
“A mom?”
“A mum.”
“A British mom?”
“That’s what I said!” He enthusiastically points on a chuckle. “But no, it’s like this prize-winning ribbon cluster thing that chicks wear on their boobs.”
Befuddlement has my entire frame crumpling towards him. “What?”
“Really?” Gilly amusedly ponders, prompting us to glance in her direction. “You guys didn’t make mums back in Middlebrook?”
“Never even heard of ‘em,” escapes in continued disconcertment.
“Think corsage-”
“Like at breakfast?” Bronny interjects, his own body scooting closer to the conversation.
“That’s croissant,” my girlfriend snickers off, “and no. A corsage is a small flower bouquet a person can wear on their wrist for special occasions like prom or certain weddings.”
“Like boutonnieres, bud,” I add.
“He thinks a corsage is a breakfast sandwich. There’s no way he knows what a boutonniere is.”
“That’s that thing you had on for Dubs’s weddin’, right?”
An arrogant hand is waved in his direction.
“Okay,” she begins again, head mirthfully shaking, “it’s sort of like that but much, much bigger and filled with ribbons and glitter and trinkets and stickers and so on.”