Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“No, I was just pissed. I packed up my shit, texted Harris and told my dad’s housekeeper I was taking his snowmobile—because even with 4-wheel drive, I didn’t trust my truck to get through the snow at that point. Didn’t say a damn word to anyone else. I just left.”
“Your dad’s snowmobile?” she echoes delightedly. “Did you wreck one of his toys?”
“I did. I’m not a bit sorry, either.” For a whole lot of reasons, but—“Mostly because coming here might be the best thing that ever happened to me.”
For the barest second, her eyes widen and she sucks in a breath. Then she laughs. “Not if I have herpes! It won’t be the best thing then.”
It was too much of a confession. And it came too fast. Because I’m getting to know Abbie Walker. I’m beginning to understand how some of her jokes are a deflection. Not all of them. Not even most of them. But when she doesn’t know what to think or how to feel.
And although I don’t fully understand what’s going on inside me—who this stranger is living in me now—I have no intention of hiding how much I like her. She’s been too fucking unappreciated by the people closest to her. So I’m not going to deal her measly little portions of praise. She’s going to know how amazing I think she is. And maybe there will come a day when her instinct isn’t to defend herself, and she can accept such a confession for what it is.
Or whatever it turns out to be.
Until then, I’ve got plenty of ways to appreciate Abbie Walker. “You’re worth the risk,” I tell her, then capture her lips. She gasps into my mouth before melting against me, her arms wreathing my neck. I take advantage of that boneless acquiescence to maneuver her onto the center of the bed, where I stretch out alongside her for a leisurely kiss and not-so-leisurely roaming of my hand.
Her tits are magnificent, her nipples a pretty pink when they’re soft and a darker rose after they’ve been pinched and teased. Her navel’s a sweet little outie, and a single spot next to her ribs is ticklish enough that the brush of my fingers makes her squirm and laugh into our kiss. Her auburn bush is neatly trimmed into a landing strip—though I wonder if it was before yesterday. She might keep it tidy for herself, but I also might not be the only one who shaved. I’ll need to do it again soon. I ought to do it now. Her chin is already reddened from my stubble. My razor twice a day, from now on.
That sounds like a good schedule for eating her pussy, too.
She’s about ready for my mouth. My fingers slip down between her clenched thighs, where her pussy’s already dripping. She moans a broken stutter into our kiss when I begin playing with her clit, circling and teasing, my fingertips so wet they might as well be a tongue.
“Your choice, Abbie girl,” I tell her, my voice roughened by hunger. “You want my mouth kissing you up here or down there? I’ll make you come either way.”
Her face screws into a grimace, as if I’ve asked her to make the most difficult decision of her life. She’s locked in that monumental internal struggle for ten endless seconds before she finally bursts out with, “Down!” Though once decided, she fully commits, shoving at my shoulders, helping me on my way.
I’m grinning so hard while holding in a laugh that at first I can’t do anything except rub my face against her cunt, coating my lips and chin with her wetness and her scent. One look up the length of her torso makes my hunger come roaring back again. Because she’s watching me with heavy-lidded eyes, half-propped against the pillow with one arm cocked behind her head. Her hair’s a messy tumble over her shoulders, the tips teasing her nipples. She’s got her teeth pinching her bottom lip, making that upper lip—already swollen from my kisses—look so pouty that I feel a desperate need to make her come so that I can go back up and kiss it again.
So I hook her legs over my shoulders and dive in, adoring her taste, adoring every sound she makes, adoring the way she loses herself as she gets closer and closer. I’m forced to hold her down when her wild gyrations reach their peak—and when she comes, shaking and crying my name, there’s nothing in this world more delicious than the pulse of her cunt on my tongue.
Her hands are covering her face when I head back up, as if she needs another second to recover. I kiss her nipple, which is about as pouty and as rosy as her lip. When she finally peeks at me, I tell her, “Your thighs are the best Christmas gift I’ve ever opened.”