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 this close to saying Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.
But the thing is—I don’t think she entirely knows what she wants from me. So I cup her cheek and draw her close, but somehow find the will to stop before our lips touch again. “You said this was complicated,” I murmur.
“I did. It is,” she says, but her lips move closer to mine.
She’s millimeters from me now, and the scent of her skin and the softness of her mouth is going to my head. “It’s very complicated,” I say.
Then, before I risk another kiss, she slides a hand up my thigh. I groan. Her fingers walk closer. “A very big complication,” she whispers, then her palm covers my hard-on.
She cups my dick through my clothes, and this should not feel so fucking good. It should not feel like a fucking revelation. My chest should not be burning, my stomach should not be tightening, and my brain should not be short-circuiting.
She’s just stroking my hard-on, for fuck’s sake. Yet it feels too damn good. I hiss a breath through my teeth, knowing, knowing, I should stop this. We’re friends. We’re fake married. We’ve got more than a month of this show.
But Maeve’s hand on my dick is the best kind of complication I’ve felt in ages. So I crush my lips to hers and kiss her deeply while she strokes my hard-on through my pants. My brain pops and my chest heats. Everything in me is amped up, the volume turned high. My head goes hazy, and I’m going to come so fucking hard when I get home tonight. It’ll be a wonder if I make it through the door without unzipping my pants.
Because…this is too good.
She kisses me back more deeply, her tongue stroking mine while her talented hand that made a napkin into a swan-fan, or a fan-swan cups my dick. Then she squeezes it—hard, firm, purposefully.
I grunt out a carnal yes, maybe a swear word, I don’t even know. My mind is on fire. Maeve squeezes my cock again, then breaks the kiss, murmuring, “Or maybe it’s not so complicated?”
She lifts a questioning brow, her eyes gleaming in the soft glow of the streetlamps.
“Maybe not,” I rasp out because I can’t really think straight right now. Not with her hand rubbing up and down. I’m in the driver’s seat, my cock heavy in my pants and my best friend watching me with avid, curious eyes.
Watching and stroking. Turning me inside out with a lust that takes me hostage. My whole body is crackling. My cock is throbbing, and I’m so damn aroused I can feel a bead of pre-come forming at the tip. I grit my teeth and breathe out hard like I can hold back this desire banging at the gate.
She tilts her head, her eyes entranced, her lips curving up. The awareness of how into this she is sends my temperature shooting higher, making me somehow even harder. Then she licks her lips and whispers, “Can I?”
I don’t have the willpower to turn her down. I don’t even know what she’s asking, and I don’t care. My dick is jumping up and down for joy, saying yes, fuck yes before my mouth does. But I say it. Oh hell, I say it with my whole entire chest. “Yes.”
Helping her along, I unzip my pants, and two seconds later, my wife dips an eager hand inside, covering the fabric of my boxer briefs. I shudder an embarrassing amount. That feels so good.
But it’s the look on her face that sends me into overdrive. My mind short-circuits as her lips part in filthy glee. “Asher,” she whispers reverently as she palms my cock through the cotton.
One word. My name. But it’s the sultry way it slides past those pretty lips.
My dick shouts it’s go time. My whole body jumps. Pleasure grips me. Everywhere. I lean my head back, gritting my teeth, trying to fight off the punishing wave of lust that slams into me. But it’s no use.
I’m helpless.
My vision blurs. My brain goes offline.
That’s all it takes. Two seconds later, I’m grunting, grabbing her hand, spilling into my CheekyBeasts, cursing up a storm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
The aftershocks don’t stop. They pop in every damn cell. I feel drunk in the best of ways. Hazy, happy, wild, thrilled.
When I open my eyes, reality hits. I can’t believe I came in my pants. But I can’t believe the wicked smile on my wife’s face either. She’s too damn pleased. “Happy one-week anniversary, hubby. I guess we’re even now.”
It takes me a beat, and then I say, “Tomorrow’s our anniversary. We were married after midnight,” I point out.
“Details,” she says, then smirks again at my lap. “I’d let you walk me to the door but looks like you have some other details to deal with.”