Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Then, all movement stops because his dick isn’t hard.
I can’t help it: I stare at it for a moment, my brows furrowed. I had been grinding my hips against his with gusto, murmuring dirty things in his ear, doing everything right--or so I thought. Instead of a reward, however, I earned a limp dick, and a boyfriend blustering his way through an apology.
“It’s fine!” I say, a bit too loudly. “This happens.”
“No, it’s just, I’m nervous out in the open like this,” Donnie says. His voice’s whining edge, like a mosquito’s, is suddenly beginning to grate on my ears. His eyes keep darting towards the door, the windows. “Can’t we just go in your room and lock the door?” he asks plaintively.
“There’s nothing to be worried about.” I try to reassure him both with my words and my hand on his cock. “Let’s do it here. It’s hot. Spontaneous. My dad won’t be home until way later. You know he works at the ER so there’s no way he’ll get off early.”
Donnie frowns, looking uncertain.
“Maybe I should go…”
“No!” I shout, and Donnie blinks in surprise.
“No,” I repeat, quieter this time, stroking my hand slowly up and down his shaft. Kara’s glower of disappointment burns in my imagination. It’s now or never.
“I want you, baby,” I whisper, and his cock twitches in my hand. My smile of triumph is barely suppressed. “Let me show you how much I want you…”
I sink to the floor, ignoring the ache of hardwood beneath my bare knees. Getting him hard is step one towards accomplishing my main objective: feeling a man inside for the first time. If my naked body alone won’t do the trick, I’ll have to resort to more aggressive methods.
I decide that means taking his dick in my soft, wet mouth. I go for a seductive look and meet his gaze, my eyes half-lidded with apparent desire.
“Bailey…” Donnie begins, but as I slowly take his length into my mouth, he goes quiet. I feel his body relax, and he leans his head back onto a couch pillow. I haven’t given him many blow jobs before, so the action is still unfamiliar. I try to cover my teeth with my lips, and to ignore my gag reflex in order to take him deeper and deeper into my throat.
My jaw is beginning to ache, and yet my goal remains elusive.
Suddenly, Donnie sits up.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna do it,” he says, as I pull back to wipe my hand across my mouth. He must clock the confusion and disappointment in my eyes, because he says, “Maybe keep going, and use your hand a little?”
I’m at the point that I want to use my hand to punch him. Instead, I smile obligingly, and wrap my hand around his cock, pumping it as I bob my mouth up and down.
“Do you like that, baby?” I whisper, watching his face for any signs of enjoyment. After another ten minutes, as I flick my tongue over the head of his barely-hard dick, I decide that I deserve a medal for Girlfriend of the Year. But I am bound and determined to have sex tonight--and I’m nothing if not tenacious.
Finally, I feel his shaft begin to stiffen in my mouth. I hum my victory against it, and Donnie moans at the vibrations. Faster and faster I bob my head, my tongue swirling around, my hand pumping up and down when suddenly…
The front door opens.
“Fuck!” Donnie yells, and jerks back so violently that his dick pops out of my mouth. My face burns as I realize that I am kneeling naked on the floor, my bare ass facing the front door, which my own father inevitably just came through. I am going to be grounded for the rest of my life--if I’m not thrown out onto the streets...
“Oh, my God,” I squeal, and instinctively look over my shoulder.
But it isn’t my dad standing there.
It’s Christopher Maddox.
3
Chris
Twenty minutes earlier.
I’ve been waiting at the counter for all of two minutes, and my temper is already beginning to flare.
I’ll admit it--it’s not my most endearing quality. But I’m a man who knows exactly what he wants, which is more than most people can say. And what I want most is for my time not to be wasted.
“Hello?” I call, drumming my fingers on the counter. “Does anyone work here?”
My cell phone vibrates in my pocket; I deftly withdraw it and study it with a breath of satisfaction. Another construction project finished--a multimillion one, at that, down in Tampa. I had flown out there a few times to supervise, and to enjoy the beaches and cocktails (and cocktail waitresses). I’m not arrogant enough to admit that I’m fortunate to have such a successful company, but I’m not foolish enough to say it’s not at all due to my hard work, either. My father drilled a work ethic into me so thoroughly that it’s a marvel I ever rest. Thankfully, I developed my own ability to play just as hard as I work.