Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” I rasp out since I can’t not tell him. Can’t not share.
He feels so fucking good, it’s mind-blowing. The tightness, the heat. Most of all, the way he trembles under me.
“More,” he urges, a husky, needy plea.
I dip my face, and capture his lips with a hard, wet kiss as I ease in all the way.
“You got me?” I ask as I pull back, meet his eyes.
He just nods a few times, lips parted, breath hot. His grip on my arms is almost too rigid, like he’s holding on.
In that space between pleasure and pain.
And so, I give him what he needs. My man is such a sucker for kissing. As I let him adjust to all these brand-new sensations in his body, I kiss him again. Hungry, greedy kisses that he deserves, and with each press of my lips, he relaxes under me. Welcomes me inside.
His hands relent their death grip on my arms. Then he sinks back down, his head pushing into the pillow.
His eyes pin mine.
“Fuck me hard now,” he says, and I unleash a carnal growl.
Mark Banks isn’t intimidated by a single thing between the sheets, and I am so into him.
“Gonna make it so good for you,” I tell him as I start to move, pumping my hips.
“Good for us,” he corrects.
He has no idea how good he is for me. But then, I didn’t know that he’d be good for me either, and I’m discovering so many things as I introduce Mark Banks to the joys of dick for the first time. Top amongst those? I thought I was the teacher and he was the student, but that dynamic fell by the wayside some time ago.
We’re just two men in bed. Two lovers who want to make each other feel incredible.
Experience is irrelevant right now when I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that all we both want is to experience each other like this.
Mark slides his hands up and down my chest, like he’s looking for a place to put them. At last he settles on my hips, anchoring them there.
And then I deliver exactly what he asked for. Because when a man tells you what he needs, you damn well ought to give it to him and give it good.
As I thrust, adrenaline spins higher in my cells, and I ask in a dirty growl, “You want it hard, Mark?”
“I do,” he grits out.
“You want me to pound you into the mattress?”
He pushes up again, his face meeting mine, inches away. “Nail me.”
“With so much fucking pleasure,” I say, and then I rise up between his thighs, push his knees to his chest and I pound the fuck out of the other best man.
We are nothing but groans and grunts.
The world narrows to the slap of flesh, the beads of sweat, the moans as we fuck.
It’s the thing I never expected to happen between us. But strange things do happen in Florida. Like this kind of sex. Wild, passionate, bold.
His eyes squeeze shut, and his mouth falls open as he reaches for his cock.
No way. “I’ll get you there,” I demand as I take over, wrapping a palm around his thick shaft, my hand flying. I give him everything he asked for.
Turns out it’s everything I want too.
The vein pulses in his neck, like an orgasm beacon. His features twist with that relentless press of delicious agony. He pushes up, wraps one strong hand around the back of my head, and crushes his lips to mine for a few delirious seconds before he lets go.
Then rasps out the sexiest words ever . . . “Fuck yes.”
He shoots all over my hand and his stomach. And my whole body overheats, my brain a static haze of bliss as I follow him there with a heady rush.
Panting, I fall onto his chest, his release smearing all over me. “Holy . . .”
I can’t even finish the thought.
And I’m not sure I should say what I’m starting to think: Was that as good for you as it was for me? Because you are the best adventure I’ve ever had in bed . . .
That wouldn’t even be post-orgasmic hyperbole.
It’s just the truth.
A few minutes later, we’re in the shower, cleaning off chlorine and climaxes.
I’m still not sure what to say, because too many thoughts are bumper cars in my head. Does it hurt? Did you like it? I mean, I know you liked it, but did you like it as much as . . . the other sex you’ve had? And are we still on for tomorrow night too? And, holy fuck, how did I not notice the first time we met how fucking sexy you are? Or how much I’d relish being your first?
I keep that all to myself and try to focus on the safest way to ease any post-sex weirdness he might feel.