Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“Go check. You’ve been lucky so far this holiday.”
“My luck’s not running out now.” Determination fills his voice and he rolls us over, then leaves me in the middle of the bed. “I’ll hike to the nearest town if I have to.”
The sudden glare of an LED lantern almost blinds me. I pull a blanket up around my shoulders and sit huddled, watching as Reed grabs his pack, throws it down to the floor. He drops to his knees and begins searching through it, dragging out items and tossing them aside. No kid on Christmas morning ever put more energy into tearing away wrapping paper and ripping into a box, praying that Santa brought him the one gift he wanted more than anything else, than Reed does digging into that bag.
“I’ve thrown all kinds of shit in here over the years,” he tells me, as if the collection of stuff accumulating around him wasn’t already proof of that. We could live for weeks off the number of protein bars he carries around. “I think I tossed condoms in here at some point. And I’ve got no idea what might be in some of these pockets—FUCK YES!”
Triumphantly he emerges from the pack’s uncharted depths with what used to be a black box. Now the packaging is flattened and tattered at the edges. Abruptly the triumph drains from his expression. He carries the box over to the lantern, where he squints and brings the package nearer to his face.
He casts me a grim look. “They expired a month ago. And they were out in below-freezing temps for a few days.”
Oh god. Lust wars with caution. I bite my knuckle. “Is it worth it? What do you think?”
While contemplating, he turns the box over and over in his hands. But considering the tentpole in his pajama pants, I’m not surprised when he decides, “If they seem all right when we open them, I’m game. You?”
“Yes. I also have an IUD.” I don’t have a tentpole but I can talk myself into almost anything. Of course, birth control isn’t the only concern. “Are you usually protected?”
“Always. And it’s been a while. A long while,” he adds with a note of chagrin.
“Nothing wrong with that. And me, too. Been a while, always protected.” I blow out my cheeks. “All right, then. How many are left?”
“The full dozen. I haven’t used any of them.” He swiftly detours to the fireplace and tosses in more wood, then a few long strides carry him back to the side of the bed. He doesn’t turn off the lantern. “How many days until we leave?”
“Eight days. Unless the snow doesn’t melt.”
He pulls the strip of condoms out of the smashed box. “Then we’ll have to ration these until we’re sure it’s melting.”
“So it’ll be like the Twelve Days of Christmas, but it’s twelve fucks, instead.” As he tears one off, I sing, “On the first fuck of Christmas, my enemy gave to me…a cock in a latex sheath!”
My voice is as terrible as always. But he doesn’t cringe, doesn’t cover his ears.
Instead he laughs and leans in to kiss me, still standing beside the bed while I’m in the center of it. Pulling back, he catches my gaze and tucks a loose curl behind my ear. “I’m going to work hard to find out what you like, but is there anything I should stay away from because it’ll ruin this for you?”
I blink at him in surprise. But I guess there are a few things. “Well, if you go down on me—”
“When,” he interrupts. “Not if. The only thing that’ll stop me is if you say now you don’t like it.”
My heart skips a little. “When you do, I don’t like being spit on.”
“No worries there. If I can’t get you wet enough, I’m doing something wrong.” His hand slips under the blankets and strokes up the length of my thigh, making me shiver. “Anything else?”
“I like dirty talking but— Do you usually?” Maybe it won’t even be an issue.
“I do. I can’t help it, mostly. My head gets in there and just takes over.” His eyes crinkle at the corners and he still hasn’t taken his gaze from my face. “If you want anything specific said, at any time, just let me know. And that’s where my head will go.”
I’m fascinated and a little distracted by the idea of his head taking over instead of simply leaving the building while he’s fucking, but I don’t want to forget the important part. “Not something specific to say, but not say. I don’t like being called a slut or whore just because I’m eager.”
“All right.” His thumb slides along the elastic edge of my panties. “Anything else?”
“I don’t mind rough or a spank on my ass. But I don’t like my tits slapped—or my face, even if it’s not a hard slap.”