Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Going to do me like this again?” I ask.
His forehead lands on the back of my neck. “When I can’t see your face, it’s easy to believe you’re someone else.”
“You say the sweetest things.”
“Let’s get one thing straight. This isn’t about being sweet. Nothing about this is romantic.”
“Insults are pretty romantic to me.”
“Of course they are. It’s how you cavemen communicate.” His lubed finger slips into my ass crack, and his breath lands in my ear. “Let me in.”
I bend and put my forearm on the glass pane in front of me. “Are you sure this window will hold us both? I really don’t want to explain to Coach how we both fell through a window naked and need to go on the IR list.”
Without warning, Anton’s arm tightens around my waist as he spins us and pushes me toward the bed. I catch myself, my hands gripping his comforter, my chest flat against the mattress, and my ass sticking out.
“The no-talking rule is back in play,” he says.
“But—”
“Ez, if you want my dick”—he rubs his cock down my crack—“you’ll shut the fuck up.”
Sex with Anton goes against everything I believe in. Like shutting up. And begging. Saying please.
Yet, I do as he says because the second he has me prepped and his cock breaches my hole, he turns me out like nobody ever has.
He gives only a few seconds to adjust to his fat cock before he lets loose. With each thrust, each sting, my body hums.
I don’t know how he does it or why it’s so good with him. It just is.
Every time his cock pegs my prostate, my legs tremble.
I lower my head and rest it against the bed while the sounds and smell of sex fill the air. Anton grunts, and I moan. His balls slap against my ass every time he pushes in. My face burns, my gut heats, and I only want more. I crave it.
“Damn, Ez. You feel so good. Too good.”
The snarky comeback sits on my tongue, but I swallow it down. I get the feeling he was testing me. I’m supposed to be silent.
Anton slams inside one more time and stills. At first, I think he’s come, but then he leans over me, that raspy voice in my ear once again. “Tell me how much you like me fucking you.”
“I do,” I admit. “I want to take a mold of your perfect dick so I can make a dildo and fuck myself with it.”
He grips my hair. “Or you could ask me to do it.”
“You mean beg?”
A laugh hits my neck. “There might be some begging involved. You’re so hot when you’re needy.”
I push back because I need him to keep moving inside me. “Fuck me, then.” My cock drags along the comforter, teasing me with that tiny bit of friction I need.
Anton stands still while I fuck myself on his dick, but it’s not enough. I need him to meet me thrust for thrust. I need him to tear me in two.
“Please,” I find myself saying … again. It falls out way too easily.
Anton Hayes is a sadist. This is practically torture for me.
“That’s better.” He pulls out of me and then slams back in, and I cry out.
I reach between me and the bed to stroke my cock.
“You going to come?”
“So close. So—”
He gives one more hard push inside, and it sends me over the edge. I tense and come all over my hand and his comforter. Anton quickly pulls out of me, snaps off the condom, and then jerks himself against my back. The slick sounds and heavy breathing let me know he’s close, and it only takes a few seconds for the spurt of warm cum to hit my skin.
We tumble into a pile of limbs and breathe hard. I’m turned to jelly, my eyes are heavy, and he must sense it.
“Stay if you want. Or go back to the hotel. Up to you. I’m going to shower and go to sleep.”
I don’t push my luck and ask if showering is an invitation. So while he disappears, I use his comforter to clean myself off. He’s already going to have to wash it anyway. I swipe my underwear off the ground and pull them on. Anton takes the shortest shower in history and is back out before I find my shirt.
He throws a towel at me. “Shower’s all yours if you want it.”
As much as I’m mostly clean, I figure I’ll get it out of the way now, but I underestimate the power of Anton’s six showerheads. The water comes at you from two angles and feels like heaven on my tired muscles.
I stay in there so long that Anton’s snoring when I get back out.
He did say I could stay, but the thought of climbing into bed with him feels too … intimate.