Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Now I can feel it on my tongue, the jolts. Her body humming. Convulsing, for lack of a better term.
I can feel the whole thing happening on the surface of my tongue. My lips. I grin into her pussy, knowing I’m going to smell like sex for days—the smell from her imprinted on my skin. Under my nose. My fingers.
Mmm.
I like the idea that I’m going to smell her after tonight, when I’m sitting in class or pulling on my helmet on the football field.
Charlotte Edmonds’ cum.
Fucking. Delicious.
Who knew?
I could get used to this, dining on her pussy. The insatiable part of me that has to do better and be better fuels me on; I want to be the best fucking oral she’s ever had, or will have.
Remember this moment—it might never happen again…
I shrug off the thought. Nope. It won’t be the last time, Jackson—you’re hooked on her and you damn well know it. Stop denying it.
She says my name over and over like a mantra, a psalm spoken to God, repeated and memorized; words to live by.
“Jackson, oh Jackson…yes…God Jackson, oh Jesus…”
It’s a rush.
The best rush.
Nothing will ever replace the sound of it, not the noise in the stadium during a game or fans shouting my name in unison when I make a play. Not the sound of the press calling to me for an interview. Not students saying my name as I walk past them on campus, heading to class. Not the little kids who want my autograph if they see me at the grocery store.
This.
This beats all of it.
My name. Her lips.
Wednesday 3.0
Charlie
So tired…
I crack an eyelid, blinking against the pitch-black bedroom, hearing only the sound of our breathing and the fan gently whirring above us.
I can’t see anything, not even the ceiling.
We’ve been lying here for hours—after Jackson went down on me, he rolled off the bed and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Brushed his teeth, washed up, came back, and climbed across the mattress. Awkward, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with me afterward. Reached for me then pulled back, unsure.
I made it easy on him. Wanting to cuddle, I rolled into his giant, warm body and little-spooned him—little-spooned the shit out of him, actually, until he relaxed and his arms went around me. One hand resting on my hip, the other under his head, he rested his chin on the crook of my shoulder and inhaled my shampoo, smelling me.
Mmm.
This beats all of it.
The mediocre dates that fizzled, resulting in and meaning nothing. The sex I had with my ex-boyfriend.
I must have rolled away from him in my sleep, and the space between us is cold, so I scoot back, inching toward him in the dark. Press my back against him where it belongs, my ass firmly planted against his front—his resting dick no longer at full mast and stiffly begging for attention.
I cuddle deeper, loving the warmth from his big body. He’s kicking off heat like an inferno—a hotbox, my mother would call him. His gentle snore reminds me of a slumbering bear.
A gentle, slumbering bear.
Jackson is more sensitive than I would have given him credit for; his passion for football runs deeper than his passion for anything else, and that’s what makes him fantastic.
But there’s more to him than that, and I believe he’s just starting to realize it. He is discovering things about himself he didn’t know before. Like there is life after football if you open yourself up to it.
There is life off the field. People can love you for more than what you can give them; they can love you for you.
Love.
It’s too soon for that, but the stirrings are there—I can feel them every time I’m with him. They grow every single day, every time he says something sweet in that Southern accent of his. Charming. Aloof.
Jackson is shy.
It took me some time to realize it because I was judging him solely by his size and appearance—huge, towering giants of men don’t normally give off a timid vibe, but now that I’m learning more about him…
I see it. I see him.
A sweet boy who wants more than the ball he throws around.
Jackson Jennings doesn’t give a shit about money or fame; all he wants is his father to be proud of him. Wants his mother to show him affection. He’s craving it.
Well I have some news for you, Jackson Jennings: I’m proud of you. And I want to show you affection.
I just wish he would tell me how he felt so I knew…
His arms tighten around me, slowly snaking down to my midriff and hugging me gently. The low snore in my ear is oddly satisfying.
We’re both content.
I sigh.
Lie there quietly thinking, trying to settle my brain so I can rest, not even sure what woke me in the first place.