Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
In what feels like a blink, Slater equips himself with the powdered sugar I left out from our Belgian waffle breakfast with Blu, throws a fistful of it at me like a smoke grenade, and takes protection behind the island counter.
Sweet flavors invade all of my senses like a hostile takeover, pushing me to mimic his combat choice of grabbing my weapon and looking for cover. Positioning myself on the exact opposite end doesn’t seem like the smartest option but a wise one the instant additional white powder falls from the sky. I scoop up a spoonful, lean to analyze both sides for the best angle, and then wait for Slater to peek his head around one corner. As soon as he does, I launch more whip cream, although this shot is a bit short. Back and forth the two of us attack. Laugh. Attack again and laugh louder. Music seamlessly shifts itself in a fun pattern of songs we separately like with ones we have a mutual love for in between, and singing along a little too passionately to the latter is how I miss the ambush. While checking to the right, Slater sneaks around on my left and snags the bowl from my loose grip. A tiny squeak barely manages to break free due to having my legs yanked forward and my torso gently pushed backward.
Sticky fingertips inch themselves upward for the waistband of my sleep shorts encouraging me to lift my hips.
Offer myself up like I’m the dessert he can’t wait to taste.
“For your act of treason,” Slater begins, words dark in color but steady in flow, “you will be forced to surrender an orgasm.”
“I won’t be giving it up without a fight.”
“Oh, Angel Cake,” he wolfishly growls, lettering clawing itself down my now exposed bottom half, “I’m fuckin’ countin’ on it.”
I anxiously watch as he throws my Dalvegan green bottoms out of sight.
Slides back onto his stomach.
Drops his face between my thighs and wraps his arms around my legs so that I can’t get away.
Not that I want to get away.
I mean what woman doesn’t want a man willing to spend however long it takes to make you come wedged between your legs.
Hot breaths intertwining with the slickness already spread along my lower lips causes me to arch in anticipation of the first lick; however, it isn’t delivered when I want.
Nor expect.
Slater chooses instead to sink his teeth into the sensitive skin on my inner thigh and suck.
Whimpers of unhappiness grow in volume when the action is mercilessly repeated on the other side. The second bite is accompanied by a harsher and harder suck, one that I’m all too familiar with and more importantly, all too happy to be on the receiving end of.
Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to have hickeys in high school.
Or college.
Or even in what my brothers dubbed “the night club phase” of a person’s twenties.
Or maybe it’s because the marks on my neck are big, undeniable signs that I have a life outside of work.
That there is someone out in the world who wants to be around me.
Enjoys being around me.
Fuck.
I don’t know.
Maybe I just like how turned on I get every time I pass by a mirror and see the reminder that something that isn’t my vibrator – which I don’t even have here – is giving me an O.
Feeling his mouth drag itself away from the area he’s been torturing encourages me to brace for the deliciously agonizing treatment to continue back where it originally began yet having his lips feather the place, I want them most during the repositioning has my fingers flying to his hair in outrage.
Threatening to claw and tug, and tug and scratch until he sucks where he’s supposed to suck.
Tastes what he’s supposed to taste.
What I need him to.
Wetness slowly drips towards the curve of my ass, yet rather than use his tongue to lick up the mess he opts for his middle finger.
Drags the digit upward to collect the thick, creaminess.
Teases it lightly inside.
Rolls it around my clit the way I want his tongue before sucking it all away.
Heavy cries of desperation pry their way out of my chest, “Slater…”
“There’s my name,” my torturer smugly smirks, devilish glare locking onto mine. “Sounds like we’re off to a good start.”
“Please.”
“Mmm,” he loudly hums so that the vibrations can be felt against my pussy, “and it’s gettin’ better.”
“Please, Slater,” I pant at the same time I pull his head forward.
“Almost.” The tip of his tongue lightly touches the very edge of my clit. “There.”
“Please, Slater, please make me come.”
A haughty laugh hits my ears, but I don’t care.
I don’t care about how brazen I sound.
I don’t care about how ridiculous I look.
And I damn sure don’t care about who the fuck hears me scream out the moment his mouth finally latches onto my clit. One long, back bowing suck is followed by another. And another. And another. And another until I realize that his plan isn’t just to get me shrieking but to sexually suffocate me.