Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
The drive across town is a blur, all nervous energy and pulse-throbbing anticipation. Jack told me to “come hungry,” which I know is code for both wine, steak, and sex, possibly at the same time. I rehearse a dozen cool, casual greetings in my head, each more mortifying than the last, then abandon them all and opt for the oldest trick in the book: just knock and smile. Let him do the rest.
The sun’s not even down when I park in front of his house. There’s no one around; even the next-door neighbor’s yippy dog is quiet for some reason. I smooth my hair, check my make-up in the rearview, and grab my bag, feet barely touching the ground as I bound up the walk. Before I can knock, the door swings open—of course Jack was watching for me—and there he is, black t-shirt clinging to every muscle, jeans hanging perfectly off his narrow hips, and that dark hair attractively tousled. His blue eyes gleam in a way that makes you want to put your whole body against his just to feel that hard physique against my own.
“You’re early, sweetheart,” he growls, and I swear to god I almost come right then and there.
“Couldn’t wait,” I say, and my voice is breathy with need.
He grabs my wrist, yanking me inside and slamming the door with his boot. I drop my bag, barely registering the sound as he presses me up against the cool wooden panel of the door. There’s no slow build, no preamble—just mouths, teeth, and heat, his hands everywhere at once. My cardigan is gone in a heartbeat, my shirt bunched at my shoulders as he slides his palms under the fabric, fingers hot and sure. I gasp, arching my back to bring my Double D’s into his hands, and he doesn’t disappoint—he’s rough, squeezing, pinching, then soothing with his thumbs as I mewl with need.
“You smell incredible,” he murmurs into my neck.
“It’s Chanel No. 5,” I say, but I doubt he even hears.
Jack kisses me again, deeper this time, tongue all the way in. My knees threaten to buckle, but he catches me under the thighs, lifting until I’m straddling his hips. I’m dizzy, drunk on him, the world collapsing to a pinprick that contains only this man, his scent, his body, and the need blooming in my belly.
He carries me a few steps to the foyer, sets me down on a bench, and kneels in front of me. My skirt’s up before I know it; he runs his hands up my legs, pushing the fabric higher, then slides a finger under the band of my panties. “You miss me, sweetheart?” he asks, low and dangerous.
I can only nod, lips parted, already desperate for him.
He slips two fingers inside, finding me slick and pulsing. “God, you’re so fucking tight and wet,” he says, and the words vibrate all the way up my spine. “Goddamn.”
My eyes flutter shut as he works me, slow at first, then faster, thumb circling my clit until I’m whimpering, clutching at his head for balance. The noises are obscene. There are wet sucking sounds as he rattles his fingers in my cunt, going faster and faster, with my juices dripping all over the foyer floor. I want to last, I want to savor it, but my body has other plans. I tip over the edge, crying out his name, my whole body shuddering as the orgasm rips through me, quick and brutal.
“Jack!” I scream, my head tipping back with feminine pleasure. “Unnnh, yes!”
He continues shaking his fingers in my cunt, watching avidly as the plush folds clamp around his hand.
“Fuck yeah,” he groans. “Shit, you’re responsive.”
When my shaking’s stopped somewhat, he pulls his soaked fingers from my pussy and then stands, before lifting them to his mouth and sucking the nectar from his digits. His blue eyes gleam as I watch him, shocked and yet thrilled by his dirty ways. Then the man smirks and bends to kiss me until I taste myself on his lips. But I want him to experience pleasure too, and pull away for a moment.
“Now it’s your turn,” I whisper, reaching for his fly, but Jack shakes his head.
“Not yet. I want to fuck you first.”
He pulls me up, bends me over the bench, yanks my panties down, and lines himself up without ceremony. The head of his cock presses against my entrance, and I brace myself, still sensitive and raw. He pushes in, slow but relentless, splitting me open inch by inch until I’m full of him.
“Unnnh!” I squeal helplessly, lifted off my toes by his massive size. “Oh god!”
“You’re doing good,” Jack rasps, panting already. “Fuck you’re so tight and wet.”
He sets a hand at the small of my back, pinning me in place, and starts to move—long, deep strokes that make my toes curl. The sound is obscene: wet, heavy, punctuated by my gasps and the slap of skin on skin. He fucks me like he’s been starving for days, every thrust a promise and a demand.