Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
There Wynn was, running her fingertips across the back of the dark brown material of the couch as she reached up with her other hand, pulling her hair free, shaking it around her shoulders. I swear it happened in slow motion, almost as if she was purposely making the move look as sexual as possible.
That was absurd, of course. She was alone. There was no reason to make something seem sexy when on your own.
So she was simply that hot all the time.
I didn't need to know that.
I was having a hard enough time keeping sane with her in my house.
She lowered herself down on the couch, giving me her profile as she pulled out her phone, searched around for a moment for—I imagined—a pizza place in the area, then dialing. I could hear the sounds of her voice, but not the words, not wanting to turn the volume up in case she might hear the echo of her voice from my study.
She hung up, slipping out of her shoes, softly rolling her neck before turning, lifting her legs up, lowering herself back on the couch, her legs facing the camera.
One of her arms lifted, her forearm resting on her forehead, her eyes going half-closed as her other hand rested on her stomach for a moment.
Before shifting downward.
Fuck.
Downward.
Over the top of her thigh.
Her fingertips traced the hem of her skirt.
My breath felt caught in my chest as I waited, sure it was going to end there, but also hopeful it wouldn't.
Then her fingers slipped her skirt upward, over her thigh, bunching it up near her hips, exposing a red lacy thong.
One of her legs lifted, went at an angle, foot planted on the cushion.
And then her hand slipped between her thighs, stroked up the crease of her thigh, then over the top of her panties before slipping under.
"Fuck," I hissed, my cock already hard, throbbing, begging for release.
My finger slipped to the volume button, sliding it upward, needing to hear her, catching the end of a small gasping sound as her finger slid over her pussy.
It was insane and inappropriate, but my hand slid down, undoing my belt, my button and zipper. As her fingers started working circles around her clit, my hand grasped my cock, pulling it out, stroking.
Through the speakers, her ragged breath was getting drowned out by soft, mewling noises as her chest started to rise and fall more quickly.
Her hand shifted, fingers slipping downward.
Her back arched as she let out a throaty moan as her fingers slipped inside her pussy.
I damn near came right then and there.
"Ohhh... yes," she whimpered, her hips rocking to meet the thrusts of her fingers as her other hand moved upward over her belly, sliding each button loose.
I swear each inch of exposed flesh was like a stab of need to my system before, finally, the last button was undone, and the sides slipped open, her bare breasts spilling out.
"Fuck," I hissed, stroking my cock harder, faster, as Wynn's hand closed over her breast, squeezing for a second before releasing. Her fingers moved to her nipple, tracing over it until it formed a hardened point, then rolling it between her thumb and forefinger for a long moment. "Pinch it," I murmured to myself, needing more. But it was almost as if she heard the demand because she grabbed her nipple, pinching, pulling, until she arched up off the couch with a deep, ragged moan.
I slid the volume a little higher so I could lean back in my chair and still hear her hitched breathing, her soft whimpers, her moans.
I watched as she slid another finger into her panties. And, judging by the way she spread her thighs a little wider, and the way her hips rose upward, that she slipped that third finger inside of her dripping pussy.
What was she thinking about as she finger-fucked herself?
Was she just lost in the sensations?
Or was she imagining someone's cock buried deep inside her, driving her up toward an orgasm?
Could she have possibly been thinking about my cock?
Why else would she feel the sudden need to fuck herself in my den after speaking to me?
A pathetic, needy part of me wanted her to be thinking about my thick cock deep inside her, stretching her, making her mine as she moaned and cried out, as her walls got tighter and tighter until...
"Fuck," I groaned as Wynn's orgasm slammed through her system, making her legs shake, and making her cry out loudly, too far gone to even care if she'd been heard.
She'd been heard alright.
And she'd brought me with her as she came, leaving me hissing and panting and completely spent after.
For all of two long minutes before I realized I came all over my fucking self.
Like some inexperienced incel.
"Christ," I hissed, grabbing for some tissues as I stood up.