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 cut her off. “How, then? I want you to have the more, the bigger coming.”
I want to pleasure her the way she pleasures me.
Tess tips her head to her shoulder, hair tumbling over her sweat-shiny brow. “Let me show you.”
Chapter 7
Tess
Let me show you.
Who is this girl? I’ve gotten so bold with Rutger that I barely recognize myself. I’m talking myself up like a porn star, all husky-voiced and messy-haired. All it took was a few hard orgasms all over his bearded face for me to start channeling my sexy inner Dr. Ruth.
Don Patron would be so disappointed if he knew what I was doing right now.
If he knew I had just smeared my virgin blood over the fattest dick.
I’ve got Rutger’s eyes on me as I spread my knees, giving him a clear view of everything that lies in between. My fingers wander down to my slit. It’s sore, because, yeah, how could it not be? But in the most glorious way possible.
“You’ve been good with your mouth,” I say, rolling two fingers over my clit. “The things you do—oh—it’s different from what I do with my hands. If I want to come, I always have to rub…here.” I show him the exact spot, just a little to the side, my eyelids fluttering with the familiar touch.
“Here?” he asks, sliding his hand in next to mine.
His hand is stronger and bigger. It feels even better. My knees draw up near my chest. “Yesss, right there. But it’s—it’s not just on the outside. You can get to it inside too.”
“Inside?” Rutger asks, surprised.
“The clit’s an iceberg, basically,” I say, and he just looks more confused. I burst out laughing. He makes me stop with a flick of his thumb. “Oh, God...” I gasp.
“What do you mean, iceberg? It’s not cold.”
“Only a little bit is on the surface,” I clarify. “Most of it is underwater…or inside, in this case. Should I draw a diagram for you?”
I’m kind of joking, but he takes it seriously. “Later, babygirl,” he says, gazing at my pussy like it’s the Holy freaking Grail. “How does Daddy get to your clit inside, too?”
I guide his hand lower, sliding his hands through our mixed juices. “Turn so that your palm is facing up… Yes, right there!”
He slides a finger inside of me. I ache and sting, but it melts into the most delicious feeling of satisfaction.
“If you crook it,” I croak out, “like you’re calling me over to you, then on the wall there—ooh!”
He found it on its own. That spot inside my pussy that makes me shake and moan.
He watches my face closely as he moves his hand. First he rubs—which is good, and he can see. But then he kind of flicks and that’s even better.
It only takes one little adjustment to get his hand just right. Then he’s stroking two thick fingers inside me, massaging my inner walls, with the heel of his palm grinding on my clit from the outside.
Rutger’s a fast learner. And he’s an eager student. He kisses the side of my neck while rubbing me, inside and out, and I cling to his shoulders helplessly as pleasure swells and surges and drags me down.
“Come for me,” he says.
And I do.
After I come for about the billionth time, Rutger feeds me.
“This is my grandma’s pancake recipe,” he says while he works in the kitchen, naked except for an apron that looks like it probably belonged to his grandma. There’s rope knotted to the ends of the little bric-a-brac edged ties because there’s no way they’re long enough to connect around his middle.
I grin as he pours batter onto the griddle, steam and sizzle coming up in greeting as I enjoy the occasional glimpse of that otherworldly dick swinging half flaccid down below the hem of the apron. And more than occasional glimpses of thick, hard slabs of muscle that cover him from head to toe.
He has hair almost everywhere, and I never thought I’d like that as much as I do. It covers his chest, hiding the ripples across his pectorals that I can feel when I spread my fingers there. Hair clings to each defined abdominal that points the way down to the part of him that makes me shiver.
His shoulders are hairless, but they’re built for carrying logs… Or carrying little girls who need Daddy to take them up to bed.
“You like pancakes, right?”
I clear my throat, casually brushing the back of my hand under my chin making sure the drool that’s gathering in my mouth isn’t making an appearance.
“I love them. And I’m starving.” My stomach is growling. We’ve lost hours curled up with each other, and I forgot that I needed anything except Rutger.
Luckily, he remembered. He gets bacon and eggs going, then puts a coffee pot on the stove. The apron has a little piggy embroidered on the front pocket where he sticks his utensils. It’s impossibly cute.