Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“I’m a last second kind of girl,” she says, then drops her mouth all the way down on me again, devouring my cock. I start pumping my hips in the chair, filling her throat. My breathing turns frantic.
Briefly she coughs, but she shakes her head and holds up a hand. Don’t stop, she’s telling me. And I don’t. I pump faster as she sucks brutally hard, giving me a raw, passionate blow job until my thoughts are this close to blanking out. My pulse pounds everywhere. But still, I grunt out one question. A harsh, urgent: “Where?”
She drops me from her mouth and grabs my cock, pointing it at her face. “On me.”
“Yes. Let me make a mess of your pretty face, wife.”
I hold the base while she guides the crown to her lips. I tremble, my mind blurring as I paint her lips, and her chin, and, yes, even her throat.
Finally, when the pleasure ebbs, I breathe out hard, open my eyes, and manage to say, “You look so fucking good with my come on your face.”
She runs her tongue along her lips, licking it all off. “Just right.”
The other thing that’s just right? When I get on the floor and tell her to sit on my face. To be as loud and as wild as she possibly can.
She complies. She rides me hard and relentlessly, using my face for her pleasure, giving everything.
She doesn’t hold back.
That is another thing that I love about her. The list keeps getting longer.
Yes, I tried to win her over with dinner.
But the fact that I give her screaming orgasms can’t hurt my chances in this game of love.
Things I’ve learned about Maeve in the two weeks we’ve lived together:
Watching her nightly skin-care routine is like witnessing a science experiment. Use this serum. Add this lotion. Mix in this toner. And every night, she offers me something—a dollop of moisturizer, a dab of night cream. She loves to share.
Her showers are hotter than even girl-hot. I legit looked up how hot is too hot for a shower, but I guess she hasn’t hit that limit yet. And I’ve learned I can handle Hades-level temps since I hate to let her shower alone.
I’ve learned she talks to her plants when she waters them. “You were hungry, Rover,” she’ll say, since she gave her plants traditional dog names.
I try not to smile stupidly every time she calls them by their names.
I didn’t learn she tends to run late, since there’s no way I could have missed that Maeve-ism over the last ten years of friendship. But I’ve discovered she moves faster when I drive her to work since she doesn’t want to make me late for morning skate.
Which is how I’ve learned she mixes up her body spray at whim, so every day when I get in the car with her, I lean over and inhale her scent. She’s started offering me her neck for sniffing when we’re at a red light, and she plays along too. “What am I wearing today?” she’ll ask. Then I give my best guess.
Things I learn about myself? I fucking love knowing all these details about my best friend.
The best thing I’ve learned? Her favorite way to end the day is with sex and an episode of a reality dating show that she only makes it halfway through since she’ll inevitably fall asleep when the date starts to go south.
On Saturday night, after she drives me wild by fucking herself in front of me with the rabbit vibrator, and I drive her wild when she’s on all fours, we get ready for bed together. As she brushes her teeth in the sink next to mine, my heart jumps up and down. I want to shout, “See? This could be us.”
Because this—right here with her—brushing our teeth together is more perfect than it has a right to be.
Instead, I just flash her a grin and keep my thoughts to myself, focusing instead on showing rather than telling.
Like doing the things she enjoys.
When we’re done, we get in bed, and I grab the remote. “We have to see if Tia wants to give Jonah another chance.”
“I can’t wait to find out,” she says, and we turn on a new episode of First Dates. But a few minutes in, she winces, then lifts her hand behind her head and gently—or maybe not so gently—tugs it to one side.
Her neck pops, and I cringe at the loud cracking sound. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I think I pulled something in my neck earlier.”
I turn to my side, on alert. “From sex?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “No, and if it were a sex injury it’d probably be lower body, Asher. And as big as your dick is, you didn’t pull a muscle in my vagina.”
She turns back to the TV, cracking the other side of her neck.