Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“That looked… kind of hard.”
“It is and it isn’t. You’ll need to develop a feel for it, and which pick works best is down to personal preference, experience, and luck.”
What follows is the most frustrating half hour of my life. At first it’s fun and I feel like I’m a spy learning forbidden knowledge. But that quickly turns into me wiggling the picks around wildly and not making any progress over and over as Brenden tries barking orders at me that don’t make any sense.
“You’re a terrible teacher,” I say, exasperated, as I fail to open the lock for the tenth time.
“You’re a worse student. Here, it’s like this.” He takes my wrist and presses his body against me. I go still, trying not to help as my heart thuds wildly in my chest. I like his smell. His breath is smoky alcohol. “Follow with me.”
He manipulates my wrist and fingers. I try to concentrate on the picking, but it’s really hard with him so close. He’s focused on the task, and I start to feel tumblers fall into place. The pressure he uses, his raking method, it’s all quick and deft, the product of well-practiced fingers with thousands of failures and thousands of successes. Another tumbler, and another, and the lock gives way. He uses the tension bar to turn like a key.
“Holy shit!” The lock opens with the most satisfying thud I’ve ever heard in my life. “I did it!”
“You did,” he agrees, even though it was obviously all him. I whirl around, now encircled by his arms, and slam my mouth to his in a celebratory kiss.
Which is a mistake.
His taste floods me. His hands drop to my hips and a pulse rumbles between us. It’s the same feeling I always get when he’s this close. The feeling that ripped into me that day in the office when I first met him, the feeling I got later in my cousin’s house when I showed him the hatch, and now, here, in the house we share together.
It’s lust, but it’s more. There’s a nervous, fizzy, light-and-bubbly energy to it. I know he feels it too. His mouth opens and the happy peck turns into more. I can’t say who initiates, or maybe we go for it at the same time, but we’re making out.
The picks fall to the floor, forgotten in the excitement as my fingers curl in his hair.
“You know what I like?” I don’t know why I’m talking. He turns me, twists me until I’m pressed against the open door’s frame. Cool air blows across my lips as he nibbles at my throat.
“I have some guesses.”
“I like when you’re in bed with me.”
“That was one of them.”
“Not like that. You’re never there when I fall asleep. But sometimes, in the morning…”
“You want me with you more often?”
“Is that weird?”
“We’re married.”
“It’s fake though.”
“Temporary,” he agrees, mouth lingering at my collar bone. Another hand moves up my shirt, grazing over my breasts. I’m in a bra this time, though it’s thin and doesn’t offer much support. My nipples are stiff and he seems to like that.
“But still, when you’re there…” I trail off, and let out a soft whimper as he touches me. “I shouldn’t even say this.”
“Keep talking.”
“When you’re here, I feel safe.”
He pulls my shirt off. I moan as he unhooks my bra, cups my tits, and bends down to lick my nipples. He keeps moving down, dropping to his knees before me, kissing down to my belly button. “More,” he whispers, greedily tugging off my sweats.
“I shouldn’t, right? You’re not safe, but when you’re here, I don’t know, I feel like…” I gasp, arching against his mouth as he kisses my pussy, my panties down around my ankle. “That feels good.”
“You feel like it feels good when I’m with you?”
“Definitely when you do that.” His tongue laps me up and down. “And that. Oh fuck.”
“More, baby.”
“I like… when your arms…” It’s very hard to think. His tongue moves up and down, licking and sucking, working my pussy as I try to form words. Was I using sentences? What was I trying to convey again? I can’t seem to make sense of my own brain, much less form coherent sounds.
He doesn’t seem to mind. His tongue does enough talking for both of us as he licks me, twirling around my clit, hungrily slurping and sucking.
“Baby,” he prompts, fingers gliding inside my aching core. “You were saying?”
“I was?” I look at him, heavy-lidded. “I had words?”
“Guess not anymore.” He kisses my pussy and stands, hand still on my swollen bud, teasing me as his mouth finds mine. My taste is salty and sweet, and I moan into him as he slides fingers deeper inside me, curling them. “My turn to talk then.”
He turns me, forces me against the wall, door still open. I’m aware a neighbor might see or hear, but I’m unable to stop what’s happening. I wouldn’t want to even if I could. He grips my hair roughly and I think he’s about to fuck me from behind but instead his hand finds my ass, spanking me with one quick, sharp crack.