Total pages in book: 206
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
When I hung up, the bedroom door slowly swung open. Tommy was standing there. By his face, I could tell he’d heard the whole thing. I wasn’t surprised he’d eavesdropped at all, but couldn’t be mad because he strode in like a man with a mission and ravished me until I’d had two orgasms. He told me that it was beautiful to hear the way I’d chosen to tell the story of us. He’d heard me tell Ruby how beautiful he was, what an amazing lover he’d been. I’d said something to the effect of him fucking me into oblivion multiple times a day, which was pretty much true because we’d been at it like rabbits for the past few days. Vanilla rabbits, though.
After hearing that phone call, he looked so moved, then made love to me so tenderly I wound up crying during the first of the two orgasms.
He kissed away my tears and then brought me to climax again, murmuring how much he loved me, how he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life making love to me and making me happy but then he whispered in my ear that not only would he make love to me for the rest of our lives but that he’d fuck me for the rest of our lives, too, and that while he’d fucked before, he’d never made love to anyone before. He would never make love to or fuck anyone but me ever for the rest of his life.
I knew that to him sometimes he wanted to make love and sometimes he needed to fuck. Those whispers spoke to me, let me know that he would sometimes want one and sometimes need the other. I knew it would be my job to be what he needed, to feed his sexual appetite, and I was determined that I could do it.
And I was happy. I was waking up in the morning to sex, I went to bed and had sex (or was woken up by it if I fell asleep first), and the day after we were home from Vegas I’d been washing a frying pan in the kitchen sink from the breakfast I’d made him, and he’d come in and screwed me from behind. Just waltzed in, lifted up my sundress, slapped my ass super hard, and then took me with his cock and his fingers and I didn’t even get the way unsexy yellow rubber gloves off.
When he finished, he washed his hands, grabbed an apple from the fridge, winked at me and then went back to his office. I was just standing there, propped up by my elbows in front of the sink with the ugly yellow gloves on, skirt up, hair all mussed up, and feeling boneless and thinking that it was fairly calm for Tommy but it’d definitely been fucking.
It’d been three days of mostly sweet, beautiful vanilla sex and cuddling and talking (but never about the serious dark stuff we eventually needed to discuss) and just enjoying one another. We did things like curl up in front of the big screen at night watching TV or movies, I cooked for him, we had a naked swim together (it must’ve been premeditated because he’d obviously made the bodyguards leave for a while because I never saw them). He’d just lifted me after sex, both of us naked, and carried me through the bedroom balcony doors down the stairs and then jumped into the pool with me.
I’d said, “Hey! What about security?” and he’d answered, “Do you really think I’d allow anybody to lay their eyes on your beautiful, naked body?"
We hadn’t left the property since we got back from the drive-in. He’d spent time on the phone in his office a lot, but he spent a lot of time with me, too.
Sarah was due back and the next day we were having dinner at his father’s. And I was starting to get a little worried because there’d been no sex games since Vegas. He didn’t seem stressed; he seemed fine. But how long would it last? Would I see the sudden shift so I’d know it was something I needed to handle proactively, or would it come out of nowhere and blindside me?
Maybe I should initiate something. Or maybe we should talk. Every time he came in the room I was in, I was looking to see if his necklace was on. He’d talked about us needing to talk a few times, but it never seemed to happen. I couldn’t blame him for that; I wasn’t initiating it either. It was easier to be ostriches with our heads in the sand, pretending there wasn’t an elephant looming in the corner.
As he held me that morning after our wake-up sex, he talked about the possibility of moving Sarah out.