Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Your kisses are literally making my toes curl.” She lets out a sigh, pressing her boobs against my chest. “Best kisses ever.”
I chuckle, tracing lazy circles on her bare arm. “How impressed are you right now?”
“Very. I’d say your kisses are medal worthy.” Her eyes close, and she bites down on her lower lip. “Maybe you should get a trophy made.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a commemorative plaque.”
We both burst into laughter, the sound filling the quiet room.
“Why can I totally see you doing that and hanging it in your living room? I mean—you have a living room, right?”
She’s such a brat.
“I have a living room, don’t you worry.”
I go in for another earthquaking kiss, hands shaking when I cup her cheek in my palm, my nerves working overtime to keep me humble.
God, everything about Harlow is a fucking turn-on.
Our mouths connect again, only this time, I don’t stop at kissing her. I move my hand up her shirt so I can cup her breast. It’s heavy in my palm, and I squeeze, thumb beginning a leisurely stroll over her hardening nipple. I roll it, and she mews softly, putty in my hands.
“See what happens when you wake the beast?” I whisper into her ear, nipping at her lobe and giving it a gentle suck.
“Did you just refer to yourself as a beast? Ah, that’s cute.”
Cute?
“I’ll give you cute.”
Harlow readjusts herself so she’s flat on her back, and I move until I’m hovering above her, staring down into her eyes.
I want to eat her up.
Lick her body.
Suck on it.
Kiss her everywhere.
Every. Where.
I lean forward and reach for the light switch, flipping it off so the only light in the room is the television, before returning to her mouth, my body like a heat-seeking missile. Our kisses are hot, any inhibitions we may have had—any hesitations about fucking—seem to have evaporated.
I’m not gonna lie, having my hands on Harlow’s boobs is seriously awesome. And, yeah, I’ve had my hands on other women’s boobs before—many, many boobs in fact—but for some reason, these feel incredible. Is it because I suspect they’re real?
I’m no doctor but have it on good authority that a majority of the tits I’ve had my hands on in the past five years have been artificially enhanced with surgery. That’s my diagnosis.
I play with Harlow’s tits in the dark as if they’re my new toys, and eventually Harlow chuckles, her amusement somehow making my dick harder.
“What are you doing? I feel like you’re giving me a breast exam. Haven’t you ever felt a girl up before?” she asks with a laugh.
“Obviously I have,” I admit. “You’ve got some really great boobs.” I dish out the compliment easily because it’s true and delight in her sigh of utter contentment.
“I feel so flattered.” She moans, head tilting back. “No one has told me that.”
“Oh, come on, you know you have great tits.”
“You don’t even know what they look like yet!”
It’s true, without the lights on, it’s not that easy to see.
“I don’t have to know what they look like, I can feel them with my expert hands. And these feel like they look like the perfect pair of tits.” I push up the hem of her T-shirt, hoping to reveal what’s underneath. Soft, smooth skin and a round pair of breasts I seriously wish I could lay my eyes on.
Instead I’ll have to take my hands’ words for it.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” comes her breathy little moan.
I lean over to take one in my mouth, first licking her nipple. Then sucking on it.
“Finally,” Harlow breathes.
God, it’s been an age.
Actually, it’s been a few months—I haven’t counted down to the day since our split. I was in a committed relationship with plenty of sex involved—I was not deprived. But the relationship was toxic, and it was with someone my mother hated.
Whatever, that’s not the point.
The point is: it’s been months and months (and counting), and I’m going to seize the opportunity to lie in bed with this pretty, funny woman, even for a short time, as long as she’ll let me, preferably naked.
“God, your hands feel amazing.” Her hands are back in my hair. “Don’t stop touching me.”
Don’t stop touching me . . .
My dick strains in my pants, desperate to break free of his prison, my body filled with adrenaline.
To me, sex isn’t just sex; it’s an adrenaline boost and a stress reliever and a way to get the lead out, know what I mean? It’s one more way for our bodies to feel good. And I want Harlow to feel good too.
My mind goes to protection. We haven’t taken our clothes off, but if we suddenly end up—oh, I don’t know, butt-ass naked—shouldn’t we have a fucking plan?
A condom?
Lucky me, I grabbed one on my way out the suite door, because I’m a planner like that and cannot trust a near stranger with my physical well-being—or risk the chance that Harlow would find herself pregnant.