Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Like a sad sack, I make my way through the suite, pausing as I pass the bedroom door. When there’s no sign of Mila, I carry on, pushing the glass door open and stepping out into the walled garden. The air is already sultry as I open the outdoor cabinet and grab a hotel-amenities pack; the eco toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, adding one to the other and shoving it into my mouth. I grab a towel from the rack as I pass. When I say grab, I mean lift carefully, because a snake once fell from between the folds of a towel I was just about to dry my nuts with.
With a deep sigh, I step onto the black rock shower platform, and flicking the dial, I tip my head under the waterfall-effect spray.
The water is instantly hot and the fall of it against my body delicious as I twist my neck this way and that, simultaneously moving the toothbrush over my teeth. The heat unknots the tension-filled coils in my shoulders as I press one palm to the stone wall, letting the water cascade. Letting it sluice my troubles away.
Only it doesn’t, because my mouth still feels full of her, and I still have this need clawing in the pit of my stomach.
I felt like I awoke in heaven, Mila’s wild hair like clouds spilling over my chest. I didn’t know what to think as she pressed tiny licking kisses to my skin. Scratch that—I couldn’t think as all the blood in my body drained to my cock. She looked so fucking hot, undulating over me. And I just lay there like a landed fish, straining my brain, hoping—wishing—she’d make that one slick slide and put me inside.
She was so wet and I was so hard.
And now I’m terrified we won’t ever get to that point again, let alone make this a lasting thing.
I could make her feel so good, if she’d let me. Make her see what I see, show her how she deserves to feel good. To feel loved. She ought to be worshipped, and I should be the one to make her feel that way.
I feel like such a fuckhead. I don’t know what I did to spoil the moment, other than being in the bed in the first place. I ought to have made sure she wasn’t asleep. But as she worked her sweet body over mine, I found I couldn’t care—my need overruling my brain.
Why do I keep saying the wrong thing? Doing the wrong thing? Calling her names just to get a fucking reaction like we’re grade school kids. It’s like I can’t help myself, like my brain switches off when she’s near. I’ll take any kind of reaction from her—a roll of her eyes, her disdain and distaste—as long as she’s next to me.
I stand straight with a growl, slicking the water back from my face. I’m so frustrated, so fucking annoyed with myself, I can barely stand it. And I’m so fucking hard, my idiot body at odds with my fucking brain again.
There’s only one thing for it. Well, I guess there are three.
Cardio. Meditation. Masturbation.
When the monkey brain is in charge, you’ve gotta pick an outlet.
I can’t go for a run and leave Mila to find an ominously empty suite, and I’m too amped for meditation. Not that it’s really my bag, anyway. So I take the option left to me.
Time to work out those kinks with my cock in my hand.
Then maybe I’ll get to move on with my day with a little more sensitivity.
Every male, from the time he hits puberty, is aware of the benefits of masturbation and the ease of cleanup when in the shower. Soap, shower gel, bodywash—whatever ruffles your fun-time feathers.
I drop the toothbrush onto the ledge and slick a dollop of bodywash to my hand, smear it down my chest, then farther to the base of my cock. My palm plenty lubricated, I make a pleasantly soapy upward stroke.
God, I wish Mila was here with me. She looked so fucking hot, all wet and glistening, dark strands sticking to her cheeks. If she was here, I’d press slippery kisses to her slick skin and lick at the drips.
I groan softly. It feels so good. Not as good as having her under me, or over me, but you’ve got to work with what you have. My eyes fall closed as I imagine her here, her dark hair streaming down her back. I’d turn her to face the wall and take her hips in my hands. Maybe twist her hair in my fist instead. Her fingernails would scrape the stone when I smack her ass, just for the hell of the moment. Just for the joy of watching it.
Mila has a body built for sin. Only, marriage is supposed to be a sacrament. The act of giving yourself to another. I tighten my grip and angle my thick crown to the teasing fall of the water, each touch blending into another.