Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“I don’t care,” she says.
Is that really an answer? She doesn’t care if I wear one? She doesn’t care if she gets pregnant? An STD?
I mull this over for all of ten seconds before my brain makes this quick calculation: she’s an adult who knows how babies are made and STDs are spread. She’s educated. So “I don’t care” must mean she’s already handled the birth control, and she thinks I’m an unlikely candidate for passing around STDs. That’s all I need to know before I let her hand guide my dick between her legs.
She’s reckless and I’m daring. The alcoholic and the gambler. What could go wrong?
“Fuck that feels good,” she says when I push into her.
Her vulgarity is hot. Really hot. My thoughts go a hundred different places all at once.
Does she want me to go slow? Is she feeling as needful as I am, wanting nothing more than for me to pound into her over and over? Is she good on the bottom? Would she rather be on top?
Her legs hug me to her while her lips peck at mine. Her rocking pelvis says fast.
I can do fast.
She digs her heel into my ass.
Hard.
I can do hard.
Her nails curl into my back, and I lose all control.
Unfettered need feels as good, maybe even better, than any high I’ve felt from gambling. This is messy, clumsy sex. We’re not out to impress each other; we’re in it for the endgame. The glorious release.
We kiss.
We lick and bite.
We claw and grab, looking for any sort of leverage to go faster and harder.
Animals. Yep. We’re completely animalistic.
“Oof!” I hit my head on the floor when we fall off the sofa.
Serena grins without pausing a second to see if I’m okay. She tosses a leg over and rides me hard.
The room fills with tiny grunts, heavy breaths, and the rhythmic slapping of skin. I roll us so Serena’s beneath me.
As I move inside her, my face hovering just above hers, she grins. It’s the “what are we doing?” grin. I return the same grin, but I also feel a tiny stab in my chest. It’s something new. I want to slow my pace because this unfamiliar feeling is one I kinda like. One I don’t want to end. One I feel the need to explore.
When that feeling starts to distract me from the task at hand, I kiss her lips, her neck, her breasts. I close my eyes and think back to the last time I felt this way.
That’s easy … never.
She arches her back and stills, gripping me with her hands and her legs. I come so fucking hard I can’t hold my head up, so I drop it next to hers, my lips at her ear.
“Damn. Just … damn.” A slight shiver shakes me.
Her giggle spreads along my sweaty skin like she’s touching me everywhere at once. “Damn indeed, Henry Bechtel.”
I should move. Remove myself from her. Face that awkward moment of deflated passion. We can’t cuddle. That requires something more than jacked-up hormones on a snowy day.
But … Serena’s fingers feather along my back, and her legs remain firmly wrapped around me. I feel the pulsing of her heart next to mine. And I wonder if I’m the first man she’s been with since her husband died.
Should I say something?
It was just sex. I think.
My lack of relationship experience is really messing with me right now. There’s a low probability that my next move will be the right one. I definitely wouldn’t bet on myself right now.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
You’re welcome?
My pleasure?
Sure thing?
Anytime?
All terrible answers.
I lift my head, searching her eyes for the right one.
Nope. I don’t have it.
I go for a tiny nod and a sincere smile, hoping less is more.
In the next breath, I step into my pants while Serena fishes her arms into her sweater.
“I’m uh…” I poke my head through my shirt “…I’m going to clear your driveway in case you need out. Then I’m going to help my mom with dinner. Then—”
Before I can list off the rest of my plans for the day, Serena lifts onto her toes and kisses me, ending with a smile before leaving my lips. “I’ll see you at dinner. I need to write.” She wraps the blanket from the sofa around her waist and disappears down the stairs.
I follow her, but I continue on to the main level when she disappears into the bathroom.
“Everything okay?” Mom asks while browning ground beef in a pan. The woman is always in the kitchen.
I run my hands through my hair and make sure my fly is zipped. “What do you mean?”
“I went upstairs to freshen up before making dinner and I…” she grins, redirecting her gaze to the pan “…heard something in the attic. Everything up there creaks with the slightest movement. I heard a lot of creaking.”