Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
It’d be a total lie to pretend that I don’t feel the exact same way.
One hand lifts itself to warmly touch the side of his face while my tongue takes the invitation to dive deeper into his mouth. To sweep the territory clean. To check for familiar tastes of breath strips and appreciate the absence of booze in the middle of the afternoon.
His drinking habits are a bit rough.
The more his parents fight, the more he reaches for the bottle, and the more his dad directs the blame on him, the more he reaches for something to smoke.
I hate it.
And I hate when he does both together, yet he swears, he’ll never be around me again like that.
Swears if I give him me to reach for instead of that shit, that he’ll gladly enjoy me instead.
I can’t as often as I used too, but I still try.
His tongue lightly toys with mine, pulling away from giving me the harder pushes, forcing mine to rush after it. Groans of approval indicate he likes the chase and needing more of him, something I haven’t had in much too long leads to me crawling across the seat into his lap. Burying my fingers in his brown hair and desperately tugging. Whimpering. Grinding again and against on top of his jean covered cock until I can’t stop my mouth from fumbling off a needy moan, “Ry…”
“Yeah, baby?” His teeth hungrily nip at my bottom lip. Once. Twice. Harder and closer together three and four times. “You gonna come for me?”
The purred question has my soaking wet pussy twitching in anticipation.
“You wanna fucking come, don’t you?” One hand winds itself around the nape of my neck causing me to whimper again. “Let me give this to you…”
An airy sigh is all the consent I can give before his other hand is under my skirt, sliding around the string of my thong, and sinking inside my pussy. The soaking wet muscles swell. They threaten for us to come after just one push forcing me to shut my eyes tight and focus on making the back arching sensation last longer.
Perhaps forever.
Ry curls the digit roughly, and I instantly curl my toes.
Clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip.
Then his.
Push back into the thrusts that have my clit rubbing against jeans – a clear indication that he completely skipped school today.
It’s his turn to deliver bites to the corner of my mouth and chin and neck. He sucks harshly knowing it’ll leave a bruise, yet this one – unlike the last – is welcomed.
This one is done out of pure pleasure.
Devotion to giving me something he knows no one else does.
Or can.
Or ever will.
The rapid sucking at the spot right above my collarbone syncs to the same speed that his middle finger is moving. Aches caused by repeatedly bumping into the steering wheel are taken and exchanged for others between my legs that are so much fucking better. Between the constant scrapes of his teeth and the consistent brushes of my clit, there’s no time or opportunity to slow things down. There’s no time or chance to prolong the uncontrollable fire building between my thighs.
Yanks at his t-shirt transform into yanks of his hair on a whispered, “Coming, Ry. I’m coming…”
His head hits my shoulder as his finger absorbs shock wave after shock wave from my trembling frame. Vibrations shoot throughout my body while my lungs debate on whether to enjoy air or continue to enjoy suffocating in satisfaction. Buzzing and ringing and pleased hums all prevent me from hearing more than the very end of my boy’s loving words,“…so fucking addicted to you, Pres.”
My exhausted figure collapses against his; however, rather than tell me I’m too heavy or to get back into my own seat before someone sees us, he simply nestles his face against mine.
Gently slips out his finger.
Cover my backside to be more respectful if someone were to randomly walk by.
“I love you,” is softly spoken near my ear prompting me to lift my face to see his.
The second I do I have no doubt that the words are meant.
That they’ve always been meant.
That no matter what rumor goes around or comes around, they’ll always be meant.
“I love you, too, Ry.”
We share one more sweet kiss before he’s back to being playful. “On second thought, Agent Pres, you can absolutely make this shit a fucking habit, but only for me.”
Good-naturedly pushing at his chest is followed by a slow headshake. “Of course, only for you. You’re the only one I let touch me there.”
“You and…,” he swallows the disgust of my boyfriend’s name, “haven’t…fooled around yet?”
“He rarely even acknowledges that I exist.”
“Fucking. Moron.”
“And when he does, his two main concerns are trying to fuck me or get a hand job to stay ‘satisfied’.”
“You do stroke a mean dick.”