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)
The sigh that tells me she heard what I said.
Felt it.
Accepts it in much more than just her body.
She shakes and shudders and shouts while throwing her chest at me, nipples continuously brushing against my chest, calling to my fingers to lower themselves to pinch.
Pull.
Pinch once more a little harder.
Slurs of my name fuse with swears as she covers my hand with hers.
Encourages me to get rougher.
To forgo the idea that it’s time to slow down now that she’s came.
Ripping off the fabric barrier is quickly followed by both of my hands cupping her tits, feeding me mouthfuls of the luscious brown treats begging to be abused by my teeth. An un-cadenced cycle of carnal groans and thrusts and bites and growls ceaselessly continue with us knocking into the headboard along with the bedside table, which causes the now cold coffee to splash onto the floor. Whether it’s seeing the mess we’re making or clamoring sounds of things possibly becoming broken that breaks my woman a second time, I’m not sure.
But it’s a discovery I put in the back of my mind to test again this evening.
You know.
After the workday.
After I’ve got answers regarding who I have to kill for what they’ve done to her.
“Slater,” Arley whimpers, sweat covered figure folding forward in submission at the same time her face lands in the crook of my neck, “I can’t…I can’t…I c-” the incompleteness of her muttered surrender tightens my balls. “I…I…”
“My pussy,” I grumble on a sharp pop of her ass cheek. “My come.”
Her body seizes and shivers over the statement.
“Give me what’s mine, Angel Cake.”
Bone breaking pulsations begin so abruptly in her pussy that even if I wanted to resist – which I don’t – I couldn’t. Her dripping wet muscles swell and swell and swell until they’re greeted by scorching splashes that are instantly sucked in.
Squeezed.
Submerged as deep as they can go to ensure they never get away.
Fuck, I never wanna get away.
“Yes,” my best friend breathlessly whispers, “I wanna feel you there all day, babe.”
Additional animalistic snarls slip through my gritted teeth to the same pace my cock continues pumping out every last drop of cum possible, not only fulfilling her request but one of my favorite fantasies.
Come on, now.
Is there really a man on this planet that doesn’t want his woman sitting around full of him, thinking about the next time he’s gonna get back between her legs to do it all over again?
Our transition from the bed to the bathroom isn’t smooth.
Or quick.
There’s a lot of maneuvering around wet objects and laughing while trying to avoid making bigger messes, both of which are relatively rare experiences for me.
Typically, my post sex cleanup is pretty simple.
Condom gets trashed.
Clothes get put back in place.
Compliments and “had a good time” kisses given prior to the woman proposing we do it again sometime.
I get out of my truck, help her out, and then go home.
Alone.
On the occasion – usually vacation – there’s bed action like this; however, I can’t recall the last time it got this messy.
Or lasted this long.
Or wasn’t uncomfortable because one of us was ready for the other person to leave so that they could shower, shit, and text their best friend who was working too hard at the office.
Post getting things mopped up, in the wash, and that blowjob I talked myself out of, yet fucked myself back into, we rush to get ready for the day we’re now running behind on. Breakfast for her and coffee for me – this time with butter – are grabbed on the go under the agreement we’ll have a proper meal together when I get back from my assignment.
The same assignment that irks her to know so very little about.
“I don’t understand why I can’t have more information,” Arley pouts, fingertips brushing her loose, brown locks away from her face. “I mean I do have top level clearance.”
“Yes, but you are also the client,” I gingerly remind while backing out of my parking space. “And the client isn’t meant to be privy to the ins and outs of every op.”
“You know I used to love it when you would say op? It was almost like secret spy novel sexy, and now? Now, it might be my least favorite O word.”
“Bet I know what your favorite O word is.” The impish waggle of my brow receives an equally playful swat to my stomach. “Hey! You want us to crash?”
“Puh-lease,” she giggles during a headshake. “You’ve driven in much crazier conditioners than this.” Arley lifts her homemade jalapeno cream cheese covered bagel to her pink glossed lips. “With me in the car!”
“Truck.”
“Vehicle.”
Her refusal to say exactly what I want causes me to chuckle as I pull into traffic. “Have you always been this stubborn?”
“Absolutely.”
More laughs absentmindedly leave me.
My woman waits until I arrive at my first stoplight to lift her bread my direction. “Bite?”