Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 84928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I swallowed hard against the realization that he was right. I knew all of that, all those dark and unlikeable parts of him and, despite myself, I did still like him. "You're... ah... pretty sure of yourself," I went with, not quite comfortable admitting the truth to myself, let alone him.
"What's not to be sure about?" he asked, giving me his boyish, cocky smile as he gestured toward his body as if maybe sensing that he was pushing too hard and I was pulling away. "Is it too much to expect you to make loaded sweet potatoes for dinner?" he asked as he finally released my butt and put both hands on the cart, leaving me to walk beside it, letting me have the space I needed.
"We have to go back and get the ingredients," I relented and his smile absolutely did not warm me up from the inside out.
"Marry me," he said, mouth still full of his first bite of dinner.
"Good?" I asked, feeling a swell of pride well up in my chest. I never really had anyone to cook for except his father and that was so different. It was an entirely new feeling to know a guy that you realized you had some feelings for liked your cooking.
"Baby..." he said, drawing out the word like it meant more than an endearment. When I held my hands out like I needed more than that, he smiled. "Know what?"
"No, what?"
"Only one thing I've had in my life that is better than this meal," he started, smile going downright devilish. "And that's your pussy." I felt the place in question tighten almost painfully, my mouth falling open. "In fact, the only way to make this dinner better is to get some of that for dessert."
"Johnnie," I tried, shaking my head, not sure how one was supposed to respond to a comment like that.
"Nope. Accept it. I'm getting my face between your thighs within the next hour," he declared, stabbing a bit of loaded sweet potato and bringing it up to his mouth.
I reached for the wine he had stopped on the way home to buy and took a sip as I tried to reason with the chaos between my legs that was very much in agreement with Johnnie's plans for the evening. "Be serious," I tried, rolling my eyes.
"Gonna eat your right here on this table," he declared, putting his hand on the surface as I pushed my thighs together under the table, seeing the hunger in his eyes.
"Johnnie..."
"If there's anything I'm fuckin' serious about, angelface, it's how much I like getting you off. So you're gonna be a good girl and climb up here when we're finished eating and I am going to show you just how much I appreciate you cookin' for me. And I'm gonna do that by running my tongue up that sweet, wet pussy of yours until you come so hard you forget your own name." He paused, watching my face for a while before he let the intensity fall from his gaze. "Now let's talk about this potato..."
"The... potato?" I parroted back at him, not quite comprehending the turn in conversation.
"Yeah, honey, the potato..." he said, smiling down at his food like he was enjoying my momentary loss of functioning brain power.
"Johnnie I..."
"For instance, does it taste this good when it is reheated?"
"Reheated?"
"Yeah 'cause I changed my mind."
"About what?"
"About the order of my meal. I think I want dessert first," he declared, slowly moving out of his seat and walking around the table toward me.
"You can't be..."
"Serious?" he finished, reaching down and pulling my fork out of my hand, letting it clank loudly against my plate as he pulled me out of my seat. "Oh, I can be. In fact, I am," he said, hands moving to my pants and making short work of my button and zip. His hands went inside slightly to snag my panties too and dragged both layers down my legs as I stood there too shocked to react. "Fucking love these thighs," he declared, running a hand up one.
And that was, perhaps, the only thing he could have said to snap me out of my weird little brain fog. "What? They're fat," I said automatically, my disdain for the thighs in question very clear in my tone.
"Fat?" he repeated, eyes scrunching up.
"Yes, fat."
His forehead fell to mine and his whole body started shaking and it took me a second to realize he was laughing. He was laughing at me!
"What are you laughing at?" I asked, my voice taking on a shrill edge.
"You," he declared, moving back an inch and reaching out to boop my nose.
"I don't like being laughed at," I said, lowering my eyes at him.
"Then stop being so silly."
"I'm not being silly."
"Baby, if you think your thighs are fat, then you're definitely being silly."
"I'm being honest," I countered, not sure why I felt the need to fight with him to convince him to buy into my insecurity.
"So we're being honest. Then let me be honest," he said, pulling back so that the only part of us that was touching was our feet. "I've had a lot of women in my life. I've had every fucking body type: short, tall, skinny, muscular, soft. And they're all good, baby. They all have their own sort of appeal. But me? I like me the kind of curves I can sink my fingers into. And, newsflash darlin', a lot of men do. So when I say I love your thighs, I ain't saying that because I want to get between them, I'm saying that because I fucking mean it. Don't you dare try to convince me that seeing something I like and telling you I like it is somehow me trying to be dishonest with you. Now all that being said, I am going to get between these thighs and I am going to love to feel them wrapped around my face while I eat your sweet pussy. So if we're done arguin' bout stupid shit, I'd like to get to that if you don't mind."