Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
She hitched in a breath as I lowered her dress straps, and her bra straps with them, freeing her sweet little tits for me. Her nipples were tight little bullets. My mouth was hungry for them. Fingers gripping flesh as I sucked. Hard.
Her head tipped back, arms raising over the back of the chair to hitch herself higher, seeking more.
I gave her more.
My fingers circled her clit, steady but firm. A slow, careful rhythm that had her circling her hips to match.
I took my time.
Her breaths were fast, mouth just inches from mine, her hips pushing her pussy to my touch.
Still, I took my time.
Her murmurs became moans, her wants taking over her nerves.
Still, I took my time.
Steady.
So steady.
My lips teased her neck. Teeth pinching flesh.
Her hips were frantic.
Still, I took my time.
Steady. So steady.
Her bucks became impulsive, her own rhythm lost to it.
Still, I was steady. My mouth was hot on her skin, nipping.
Steady.
Steady.
Steady.
And she was done.
Panting, squirming, soaking my fingers with her wetness. Her hands came around to grip at my hair, and I raised my face to hers, her eyes so hazy on mine.
“Yes… yes…” Her voice was beautiful.
She came for me.
Stunning.
Her eyes were closed tight when she tipped over the edge, and my lips pressed to hers, claiming her open mouth with mine as she whimpered.
Shudders, and squirms. Gasps and bucks.
Desperate and wild, as her body tensed, tensed, tensed… and then collapsed.
She collapsed into the chair, chest rising and falling. Her smile was a glow against mine, and that insanely addictive buzz of life about her flared up in a giggle.
“I can’t even…” she began, and she was heady, her arms wrapping around my shoulders. “I’ve never, um… not like that.”
She squirmed enough to look down between her legs and saw the patch of wetness on the chair underneath.
“Oh shit,” she said, but it was my turn to laugh.
“Don’t even begin to worry about that,” I told her, and her cheeks flamed up even brighter.
Another giggle, then she took a breath, and relaxed. Her hands came around to my face, and her thumb brushed my lips, and she was happy.
Happy enough that it resonated in me. Because I felt it.
I was happy too.
I’d almost forgotten what that felt like to feel happiness right the way through me.
I kissed her forehead as I got to my feet.
“I need a minute,” I told her for the second time. “Please help yourself to the kitchen. Tea, coffee, a snack. Whatever you want.”
“Thanks,” she said, and was already tugging her dress back down as I left her in her seat.
Mum was fast asleep upstairs, but the lamp was still on at her bedside. I stepped up close enough to check her meds had been taken. Her juice was on her bedside table, and her breathing was shallow but regular.
I switched the lamp off as I left, keeping the door open a sliver, then headed back downstairs.
Chloe was still in the living room, crouched down on her knees in front of the nearest bookshelf. The Bernard Cornwell section.
“Excalibur is my favourite,” she said.
“The Winter King is mine,” I replied, then headed on through to the kitchen.
I set the kettle to boil and leant back against the counter as she joined me. She was fidgety, but still glowing –a strange combination that made her all the more gorgeous under the harshness of the kitchen lights.
I tugged my tie off and unbuttoned my top button.
Her eyes were fixed on my fingers.
“Tea or coffee?” I asked.
“Coffee, please. Black, three sugars.”
I smiled at that and poured. “That will keep you up a while.”
“Good,” she said, and smiled that nervous smile, buzzing with self-consciousness all over again.
Then she cleared her throat. “The woman, who was here… is she, um…”
“She’s a carer,” I told her. “For my mother. My mum is upstairs.”
“Oh. Is that where you…”
“Yes,” I said. “I went up to check on her.”
I turned my attention to stirring my drink, and I could feel her eyes searching me. Wondering. Sensing.
“She’s dying,” I told her. “She has weeks to live. COPD reaching its peak. She can barely breathe.”
That gaze of hers widened, and I felt it. That sympathy.
“I’m sorry.”
“Everyone is sorry,” I told her. “Everyone is always sorry. It doesn’t stop the inevitable.”
“I had no idea,” she said, and I sipped my coffee.
“Nobody does. My personal life and work life are two very separate things.”
She nodded. “Is she awake?”
“No. Fast asleep.”
She nodded again. “I hope I’m not disturbing anything… if she needs you, I mean…”
“I’ll hear her if she needs me.”
Another nod. Nerves again.
It was my turn to clear my throat. It was my instinct that took the fore. My stance was tall against hers as I placed my coffee on the side and stepped over.
“Relax,” I said.
It was like we were in the ward, her looking up at me, full of such adoration it ate me up. Another nod, but this one was different. Heavy.