Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I squeeze my eyes shut and lock my knees, knowing that I’m about to come apart. And then it happens. All at once, my orgasm explodes at the same time Carter pushes his thumb in my ass.
A loud moan rips from my throat as my whole body convulses with my release. Waves and waves of pleasure wash over me while Carter fills both of my holes. I can feel myself pulse around him as I slowly come down from my euphoric experience, and I’m vaguely aware of Carter pulling his thumb from my ass.
He quickly pulls out, groaning as he spills his cum all over my ass cheeks.
I blink my eyes open, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. Carter loops his arm around my torso and lets me lean against him. He gently guides us under the spray and rinses the conditioner from my hair. I let my head fall back on his shoulder as he supports most of my weight.
We stand in the shower like that for a little while longer. After a few minutes, my mind clears, and my body returns to a semi-normal state.
“You said you wouldn’t push in,” I accuse.
“You loved it, like I knew you would. Your body was begging me,” Carter answers without missing a beat. “Let me clean you up so we can get out of here.”
He reaches for the washcloth, and I straighten up to stand on my own. He pours some body wash onto the rag and gently rubs it over my butt and a little between my legs. After the rinse again, Carter steps out and wraps himself up in a towel, before bringing me a towel. He holds it open for me, and I step inside, letting him dry me off before he fastens it around my torso.
“I’ll be right back. Just getting some clean clothes from my room,” he announces before disappearing from the bathroom.
I blink my eyes, staring at the door and wondering if that really just happened.
TWENTY-FIVE
Carter
“Don’t get the wrong idea.” I swear, this girl has a split personality. One minute she’s coming like there’s no tomorrow and the next, she’s giving me a stern look in the mirror once I’m dressed again and standing in the doorway to her bathroom.
“The wrong idea?” I ask. I can’t wait to hear this one.
“Yes.” She finishes drying her hair and sets the dryer on the counter. “We’re not screwing around in my room. You’ll have to find something else to do, since I’m getting ready for bed.”
“For bed.” She nods firmly before turning around to face me with her arms folded. “Now?”
“Yes, now,” she replies. “I’m tired.”
“There’s one problem with that, genius.”
I kind of love the way her eyes go narrow and her nostrils flare. Now that she’s found her voice, she loves using it, which means she won’t shy away from telling me or showing me exactly how much I piss her off. “Oh? What would that be?”
“It’s only six o’clock in the evening. Are you really going to sleep at six o’clock?”
Her mouth opens and snaps shut. “Fine, whatever. Maybe I won’t go to sleep right away. But I would like to rest.”
“How about you eat something first? I’m hungry. I could make us some dinner.”
Her eyebrow shoots up. “Really.”
“Really.”
“You. Making dinner.”
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“You know what? I’m not even going to waste any time arguing about it. I would much rather see you in action.”
She’s trying and failing to hide her glee as we leave her room so she can follow me down the stairs and out into the kitchen. Our bare feet slap against the floor before she drags a chair away from the island and takes a seat, wrapping her legs around the chair legs and propping her chin in her hands.
“You don’t need to make it seem like you’re sitting down to watch a show.” When she doesn’t even twitch, I add, “Should I pop some popcorn? Really give you the full experience?”
“You know what? No, because I don’t want to ruin my appetite for whatever wonderful thing you’re about to cook.”
I told myself I wanted her to open up to me, didn’t I? That I would do anything to make her forgive and forget. I guess I can’t be too pissed that she’s feeling playful now. “Is it just like being a chef on your own show?” she asks while I look through the fridge.
“Yeah, except the audience won’t shut the hell up.”
There’s some shredded cheddar in here. Milk, eggs. I pull all of that out before going to the pantry for a box of macaroni. “What about macaroni and cheese?”
“You mean actual mac and cheese? Not the kind with the powdered sauce? Don’t get me wrong,” she adds. “I love that stuff. But there’s, like, actual cheese on the counter.”