Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
And it is tight.
He’s all pressed up against me, our slicked skin glued together as he digs his fingers into my back painfully.
Not sure he realizes what he’s doing, but it doesn’t matter. I’m busy enjoying the fact that he wrapped his arms around me a bit too much.
It’s like a present. Preston has never really been proactive about touching me—he’s only kissed me twice of his own accord, and for one of them, he was drunk and high.
And then this.
Naturally, I won’t put an end to this, even if it hurts and I can’t breathe properly with my head buried in his neck.
I fall into the rhythm of his frantic heartbeat thrumming against mine as his harsh breaths echo in the air. He lets out a small, sated noise like a sigh, and my cock twitches inside him.
No sense of boundaries for that one, apparently.
Though I can’t really blame him. It’s the first time in my life I’ve been staggeringly desperate to fuck someone.
Get inside them.
Own them.
I’ve never worked this hard for a hole in my entire existence.
Never tolerated so much push and pull, temper tantrums, and rejection.
I tell myself that’s the only reason this fuck felt special—because I finally conquered Preston Armstrong.
If I follow that logic, this morbid fixation and disturbing obsession should vanish right about now.
I wait and wait, and fucking wait as I breathe him in.
Nope.
No disappearing in sight.
If anything, my cock lengthens inside him, demanding round two. Now.
A muffled groan tears out of me. Just what is it about Preston fucking Armstrong that makes him impossible to resist?
Is he actually some sort of a fucking fairy in human form? He’s obviously ethereal in some way.
His fingers unwrap from around me in a sudden jerk as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have.
“Sorry… I didn’t mean to hold on too tight…” His voice is stripped raw, a tad vulnerable.
Not as vulnerable as when he talked to me earlier with a tear sliding down his cheek, but it’s close enough.
“I don’t mind.” I lift myself up slightly, planting my elbows on either side of his face so I’m not crushing him.
But I don’t leave too much space, our abs still pinning his deflated cock and my own still twitching deep in his warm heat.
And now, I’m staring at his gorgeous face and his swollen, parted lips.
If I had the power to stop time, this would be the moment.
He blinks twice. “You…don’t?”
“Should I?”
“Yeah. No one enjoys being held on to like…that.”
There’s a strange type of mixed irritation and fascination in his voice, and it’s intriguing to see the two polar emotions blend.
“Is that what you’ve been told?” I stroke a strand from his forehead to behind his ear.
I expect him to flinch like he does sometimes when I touch him this gently, but he seems to be preoccupied with what I said. So I leave my fingers on his face, caressing his beautiful skin with my knuckles.
“What I’ve been told?” he repeats.
“Isn’t that the case? Someone probably ordered you not to hug like that. Maybe they said it’s annoying?”
His lips part before he seals them shut again. “It is annoying.”
“It’s not. It’s how you show affection.” I brush my mouth against his trembling lips once, twice, three times, and he just lets me, shivering beneath me.
On the fourth time, I whisper against his skin, “I like that you’re showing me this side of you.”
He squirms, and I don’t think it’s discomfort, not entirely—embarrassment, maybe, considering the redness creeping up his neck. My theory is confirmed when he slams his forearm against the center of my chest. “Shut up.”
“Don’t be shy.”
“Who the fuck is shy?” He face-palms me. “I’ll choke you with your own arrogance.”
“My biggest fear.” I chuckle against his hand, and I think it trembles before he removes it.
“It better be.” He clears his throat before he looks to the side. “Aren’t you going to…”
“To what?”
“You know what.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Pull out.” He grunts out the words, his skin brightening to a deep shade of red.
“Hmm.” I roll my hips. “I like it here just fine.”
“You—” He bites his lower lip, but I can hear the faint moan he was trying to kill. “How the hell are you even getting hard this soon?”
“You are, too.” I rub my stomach over his thickening cock, and this time, the moan rips out of him loud and clear.
“I’m hypersexual,” he says with a dismissive tone.
“Maybe I am, too.” I’m not. If anything, I can go without sex for months.
But the thought of not touching Preston for mere days makes my body tight with pent-up frustration.
Technically, what I told him isn’t a lie. I am hypersexual when it comes to him.
Apparently, I’m Preston-sexual.
Something dark and gloomy settles deep in his eyes as he murmurs, “Why?”
“Do I need a reason to be hypersexual?”