Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 41621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
I can thrash and moan and cry out as much as I want to, but I’m not going anywhere.
“There, yes,” I say when he licks my clit again. “That spot! Right there!”
“This?” he asks, muffled by my cunt.
He licks it again and I hump his face.
“Yesss,” I groan. “Lick my clit, Daddy. Oh Jesus, fuuuuck.”
“You like that?” he asks me.
“Like. Yes.” I huff as I jack my hips onto his mouth. “Like. Like, uh.”
More nonsense but he seems to decode my blabber in miraculous ways.
He tries out sucking and my mind goes totally blank. All I manage to do is make a weird whining sound. “Yeah, good girl. Tell me you like it. Let it all out.”
He sucks and sucks, and hot bolts of pleasure shoot from my hole to the tips of my hair.
“God, Daddy! Holy Reindeer--” My eyes roll back and I shake and mumble like I’m speaking in tongues.
I can’t give him words, so I babble more nonsense as I slap my thighs against his face, dig all ten fingers into his hair, trapped in his arms.
His tongue finds its way inside of me. I’m pretty sure it’s bigger than most regular dicks but it’s smooth and wet and warm and gah…
“Fuck!” My hand slaps the dashboard. My heels slam his back.
“What’s that?” he asks, lifting his head.
For a moment, I glimpse his wild, handsome face, and his beard is drenched with my juice.
“That’s—that’s my—” I cut myself off.
“Say it,” he says.
“My pussy,” I whisper.
“And what do you want me to do to it?” Rutger asks.
“Please, don’t stop,” I choke out, but that’s not enough for him.
He lays a kiss on one of my lips without touching where I want to be touched. “You gotta tell me, little girl. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it to you until you’re screaming.”
“I want your fingers in me.” I cover my eyes with an arm. “Your fingers in me and your mouth on my clit. Please.”
“Beg,” he growls.
“Please, Daddy! Fuck me with your fingers!”
He slides one of his long, thick digits inside of me, and I feel a dragging sensation deep inside my body where I’ve never felt it before. I’m still a virgin. Just getting his finger past one of the knuckles is a squeeze, wet as I am, and his agonized moan vibrates through my clit.
“You’re so small, so tight,” he says. He pulls his finger out, then eases it back in. “Take me like a good girl. Relax. Spread your legs.”
I can’t spread them when he’s sucking on me, flicking my swollen clit with his tongue, and arching his finger to massage my inner walls. I can only clamp tight around him as another orgasm approaches.
My vision goes fuzzy. My ears ring.
Rutger pushes my thighs back and spreads them apart. I’m doubled over. My calves are still wrapped in my jeans, captured, but he’s got me spread out so that he can keep licking while he slides a second finger into me.
I’m wide open, fully exposed, helpless to the heat of his breath and the strength of his hands.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” I pant on each breath, neck straining, legs shaking, his mouth locked over my cunt. “I’m going to come—I’m coming—”
“Come for me,” he snarls.
And I do.
It explodes out of me. I gush all over his fingers, all over his face, and I scream so loudly that the whole forest should be able to hear.
The only thing left behind afterward is total peace. Emptiness. Relaxation.
I think I pass out for a second.
When I rouse again, Rutger’s kissing up my thighs and putting my pants back into place. He takes one more long inhale of me through my underwear. They’re soaking and useless. I need to change.
He sucks his fingers into his mouth, eyes locked with mine.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I blush as I smile.
I’m basically asleep all the way back to camp.
If we lived in a perfect world, Rutger would sweep me into his arms and take me into hiding with him. In a perfect world, I could have his head between my legs for the next infinity, which is exactly how long it would take for me to be satisfied.
But when Paint Forest Program comes into view, I remember it’s not a perfect world, and that I’ve got a job to do. I catch sight of the dashboard clock.
“I have class in less than an hour,” I say. I’m nestled against his shoulder sleepily as the pickup trundles to the patch of dirt we use as a parking lot.
“Skip it.”
“I can’t.” It’s the only reason I’m here. Lindsay has been so perfectly kind to me, and I need to earn my keep.
“I don’t like people looking at what’s mine,” he says, grabbing my hip. “This is mine. All of it.”