Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“But that’s nothing compared to how hard it becomes,” he goes on, his fingers flexing on my face. “When I hear you.”
“Hear me what?”
“Moan.”
I go still. “What?”
“You do that, don’t you?” he rumbles, his hips shifting between my thighs, rubbing up against that part. “You moan. When you touch yourself.”
“I… You…”
“You also whimper and sob.”
“I don’t… I’m—”
“But the one that gets me every single time”—he moves again, rubbing against my core and holy God, I moan; I have to I can’t stop—“is your whine. Did you know you do that?”
“N-no,” I say because I’ve got no clue what else to say.
“You do,” he tells me, moving against me once again, rubbing up, pressing down. “You do it when you’re close. When you’re right there, your needy moans become impatient whines. You sound like a whiny little princess who wants to come but can’t wait for it. And then when you do come, you call out for God. Did you know that too? You call out for Him and that gets me too.”
“Why?”
“That gets me mad, see, because it’s not God that made you come. It’s not God who’s standing at your door, listening to your cries, memorizing the way you breathe, the way they hitch when you like something. When you’ve hit the spot. It’s not God who strains His ears, trying to catch the slurping sounds of your pussy. It’s not God’s dick that gets hard the moment He hears the rustling of sheets. Because He knows, He fucking knows, that He’s about to get lucky. He’s about to hear you come because you’re probably getting down to business. And since you’ve forbidden Him to touch you or get to you or make you come Himself, He has to content Himself with hearing you come. Imagining what you look like right that moment.
“It’s not God’s dick that throbs in His pants. It isn’t His dick, baby, that fucking leaks when you make a ruckus like a needy little slut. So yeah, it gets me mad. It makes me angry that God gets all the credit, that God gets all your prayers when we both know it isn’t His name you cry out when you come.”
“I—”
“Whose name do you call out then?”
“Y-yours.”
“And who’s standing at your door with his hard dick in his pants that he needs to keep squeezing every two seconds because once again, he’s ready to blow in his pants, while you’re being a whiny little whore for him on other side?”
“You.”
“Me. Not God. It’s me.”
I knew it was coming.
The last part about me calling out his name.
Because I do do that.
I do touch myself almost every single day and whenever I do, I call out his name. Because he’s the one I’m thinking of. He’s the one I’m imagining when I’m horny. And I’m horny all the time. Because he’s around all the time.
On the bus, at games, at parties, in the hotel.
Just the thought that his room is only a few doors down no matter where we go is enough to get me wet. And it’s not a new phenomenon. I’ve been imagining him and touching myself ever since I saw him.
But the fact that he knows, that he heard, is…
“I’m not that loud,” I say at last.
A breath puffs out of him, all hot and misty, all tasting like smoke and marshmallows. “You are. And even if you weren’t I’d still hear you. I’d hear you from my room, from the reception downstairs. I’d hear you from another town. And you know why?”
I swallow. “Why?”
“Because as always, everything you do, you do it for me,” he says possessively, his chest pushing into mine with a large wave of breath. “You get horny for me. You moan for me. You call out my name. So I’d hear you from across this goddamn world because you lie down on your back, your thighs spread and open, your finger playing with your sweetheart snatch for me.”
I nod, slipping our mouths together. “Yes.”
Grasping my throat with both of his hands and pressing both of his thumbs on the triangle, he says, “So that’s what I’ll do then. That’s where I’ll start. Atoning my sins. Paying for my crimes. I’ll start with my mouth on your pussy and then I’ll feed her my dick. I’ll fuck her with my dick. I’ll fuck myself out of your system, baby. I won’t let you suffer any longer.”
I know he’s trying to atone for his sins, but the truth is that we’re both sinners. We’re both criminals. We’ve both done awful things, desperate things for each other.
We’ve both hurt each other, tortured each other.
Which makes me think that for all our differences, maybe we’re not that different at all.
We’re the same.
The fabric of our souls is the same. We share the same veins in our hearts. We share the same chambers. So I’m done fighting with him. I’m done making him pay or paying my dues. I just want to be with him.