Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Tight muscles that bunch and release. Or maybe mountains, emerging from his back before disappearing within his body with every rep.
It’s such an aggressive and masculine thing, the dance of his muscles and his harsh stare, that I rise up from the bed.
I let the sheet fall away from my shoulders and pool at my knees, leaving me naked, my hair swaying at my back.
Arrow’s nostrils flare at the sight of me, but he doesn’t falter.
He keeps going up and down, his breaths noisy and whooshing, his muscles in a state of constant making and unmaking.
When I’m on the floor, I come down on all fours and begin to crawl over to him.
He narrows his eyes at me, still going up and down, and I crawl and crawl until I reach him.
Until I’m so close to him that his sweat-drenched hair grazes my chest and my stomach. Until the puffs of his heaving breaths explode on my naked skin and his silver chain hits my ribs and my belly button.
I put my hand on his shoulder to find that he’s burning.
“Stop,” I whisper.
His muscles flex and he works harder, if at all possible.
“Stop, Arrow.”
No effect.
“Please? For me?”
That does it.
He stops then.
But if I thought he’d go down on the floor in a heap of tired and burning muscles because God, they’ve got to be burning, then I’m wrong.
Because he comes up on his knees, sweat running like a river between his heaving pecs, and grabs my hair in a fist, making me look up at him.
“I had it,” he bites out, glaring at me.
I put my hand on his sweat-shiny chest; his dead heart is thundering. “I know you did.”
“Twenty more reps and I would’ve been done,” he pants. “I would’ve broken my record.”
See? I knew it.
I knew he was trying to break some kind of a record.
My stupid, darling Arrow, always trying to prove something. Always trying to be perfect when he already is so, so perfect.
“And probably killed yourself in the process.”
He leans down on me and the droplets of his sweat plop down on my body like rain. “I. Had. It.”
I study him for a beat, his panting, tight body, and I wind my arms around his neck. I go flush with his chest, his sweat slathering on my tits and stomach.
“Do you remember the time in your junior year?” I ask against his lips, my tongue peeking out to lick up the sweat and I can barely contain my moan at his musky taste. “You had a game. And you were playing your rival school and you guys were trying man-to-man marking for the first time?”
His eyes go back and forth between mine. “Yeah.”
“And since it was new to you, you practiced like crazy, and the night before the game, you didn’t even come home. Because you were practicing.”
He didn’t; I remember that.
I wonder if he was smoking then. If the stress of the game became too much for him and he almost killed himself for it, like he’s doing now.
“What about it?”
I shake my head at him. “It was stupid then and it’s stupid now.”
His fist tightens in my hair and he finally puts his other hand on me. On my ass; he loves my ass. Or at least, he loves spanking it and worrying and plumping the flesh.
Arrow pulls at my cheek. Hard. “Excuse me?”
But I don’t get deterred; I pull at his sweaty hair in response. “You were and you are.”
“We won that game.”
I know. I was there. He doesn’t know it but still.
“So? Winning doesn’t mean you kill yourself for it. If that’s what you’re doing all the time, all this stress and all this pressure, then how do you enjoy it? The game that you love so much.”
“I don’t play to enjoy the game. I play to win it.”
“So what do you do when you want to have fun?”
“I fuck you.”
I clench my thighs. “So are you going to?”
“Is that why you crawled over to me? All naked and pretty. Because you want to get fucked?”
My channel is pulsing at his rough tone. “Yes. But also to stop you.”
“From killing myself.”
“Yes.” I pull at his hair again. “Because if you wanna kill yourself, I’ll die with you too. Remember?”
His fingers on my body tighten and tighten to the point where it hurts so deliciously. “You’re a goddamn pain in my ass.”
“But will you still kiss me?” I ask, all shy and pretty like a good girl.
And he does.
He kisses me and then he fucks me on the floor and I spread my legs as far as they go and arch my back. I let him take out all his frustration on my body as he grinds into me with his big, fat cock.
But that’s not all he needs me for.
He also needs me to slip sexy little notes into his mailbox at St. Mary’s.