Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
My fingers brush over hot, velvet steel when I reach between us. Locking my hand around his cock, I guide the crest to my swollen folds. He parts me with a single pivot of his hips, lodging the broad head inside. Arousal coats my slit. He gathers that wetness, working it with shallow thrusts over his cock, and when my inner muscles soften, he pushes home.
The stretch has my eyes roll back in my head. I moan when he pulls out and slams back, teasing nerve endings in his wake. He frames my face and looks into my eyes as he pummels my pussy with meaning, delivering deep, thorough strokes that leave me so needy I’m ready to beg.
“I need you, Anya,” he says with gritted teeth.
He only gives me a moment to process the warning before he flips me onto my stomach and pushes a cushion from the sofa under my hips.
I turn my face to the side and press my cheek on the carpet. With his shirt hanging open to expose his manly chest and his cock jutting from his open jeans, he’s a sight to behold. To me, he’ll always be virile and powerful, the most beautiful man in the world.
My pulse picks up when he pumps his cock in his fist until precum leaks from the tip. He rolls the slickness with a palm around the head and spreads it over his length before pushing his jeans down to his thighs.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says, holding his weight on one arm and gripping the root in his free hand.
I don’t want him to stop. I want it all, everything he can make me feel.
He pushes the crest on my dark hole, applying steady pleasure until my muscles give and swallow him with a painful pop.
It hurts, but I’ve always liked the pain.
I clench my fingers in the rough wool of the carpet, holding on as he carefully sinks deeper. The burn as he stretches me is exactly what I need. I revel in taking him this way, in giving him something we both enjoy. By the look of fervor and rapture on his face, he needs this as much as I do.
“Your ass is so tight,” he says, almost sounding as if he’s in pain. “I’m not going to last.”
I push back, taking everything. “Then don’t.”
“Fuck, sweet girl.” He locks a hand on my hip, keeping me still. “Slow down, darling.”
It’s too late for that. I’m too far gone, drunk on an addictive cocktail of pleasure and pain.
“Please, Sav. Move.”
He complies immediately, sliding in and out with a controlled pace.
“More,” I moan. “It hurts too much.” Too good.
He slides his hand from my hip between my legs, massaging my clit while picking up his pace. I work with him until we find a rhythm that works for both of us. It’s hard and grueling, like the drumming of my heart. It only takes one more shove before my muscles tighten with unbearable pleasure.
He follows, his body going taut as warmth bathes me inside. The aftershocks continue while he pumps himself dry, ripples of pleasure torturing my body every time my inner muscles clamp down on the intrusion. He groans with each of my contractions that milk his cock, holding me against him until the storm has wreaked its havoc and our bodies are finally soft and quiet in their depletion.
“Ready?” he asks, plying my neck with tender kisses.
Unable to speak, I nod.
He pulls out, leaving behind a sting, and kisses my shoulder. “Okay?”
“Mm-mm.”
“Stay, my love.”
He gets up with some difficulty. I want to protest, to tell him not to put pressure on his knee, but I’m too caught off guard by the term of endearment. He’s only ever called me my love in a sarcastic sense, either when he wanted to make a point about my lack of choice or when he did it to make a statement about the nature of our relationship in front of people. This was different. It was the first time he said it for no other reason than to express affection and for no one’s benefit but mine.
He adjusts his jeans and limps to the guest bathroom, making the short distance without his cane. His progress warms me even more than that silly endearment that slipped from his lips.
The water turns on. A moment later, he returns with a wet cloth and a towel. He kneels on his good knee behind me, grunting with the effort. Even though his face contorts with pain, I say nothing, sensing that he needs this too—to take care of me.
He cleans me with the warm cloth before carefully patting me dry with the towel, and then he lowers my bra and my blouse and pulls down my skirt.
When he’s tucked all my clothes in place, I roll onto my back to look at him. He throws the towel on the carpet and stretches out on his side next to me.