Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
For a while, I indulge her, letting her play at being in control. She always gives back that slow, dick-teasing glide, holding back whenever I thrust too hard and deep.
When we’re both torn to shreds with desire, panting and groping, damn near mauling each other and fighting for this fucking release, that’s when I move.
I grab her and pin her down under me.
Then I fuck her like a mountain coming down, dragging my pubic bone against her clit until she explodes.
Her screams echo off my high ceiling, filling the house with our music.
And my ears are ringing when I come so hard in that honey-sweet pussy my soul leaves my body, pouring myself out in this little splash of madness, wondering if I’ll ever find myself again.
15
DOMESTIC BEE-LISS (WINNIE)
So I’ve always been an active participant in bed.
Let’s just say I’ve always known what I want from sex, and usually it’s something my partner can’t deliver.
It’s not like I’m enormously demanding.
I don’t expect him to be Mr. Hour Long Pound or Sir Jackhammer, or even to carry me from room to room like I don’t weigh anything. I’m not expecting a man with a ribbed and dotted dick hot off the assembly line for my pleasure.
But I do expect enjoyment.
To come just once, even if there’s no guarantee.
To feel wanted.
I think Archer Rory just set a new gold standard.
He makes me feel like the only woman in the entire universe. When he’s looking at me, he can’t see anything else.
There could be supermodels dancing naked around me and he wouldn’t notice.
And he toys with my body. All of me.
Not just the usual parts—although he worships them plenty too—but other things as well.
He nips at my earlobes and kisses my neck and the back of my knees, my sides, my feet, everything he thinks I might like.
He knows when to give and take.
Just like he knows when to ask and when to surprise me.
Honestly, that’s a freaking miracle in and of itself. A lot of younger dudes don’t have the ego to ask, much less improvise.
Not just ‘do you like this, babe?’ but ‘do you like it when I touch you here, or here?’ He’s mastered the art without words.
And holy hell, do I like it.
This scary, sexy, slightly deranged man makes me come like I never knew I could. I’m pretty sure my soul has transcended matter into pure orgasmic light.
I may have seen whole lifetimes flash before my eyes.
Right now, I perch on the counter, just like I did when he licked me so good, as he picks up making the pancakes he started before Rina butted in.
Rina, the ex-wife with a severe case of resting bitch face.
That’s almost enough to pierce my happy afterglow. Almost.
I don’t know if I have the courage to bring that up now—he mentioned bad sex etiquette before—so I just nod to the expert pancake flipping going on.
“I bet you could hire a whole team of chefs.”
Just like my parents did. My mom probably hasn’t made anything more complex than toast in years.
Archer glances at me. “You didn’t like having a cook growing up, huh?”
“I—” At his knowing look, I stop. “How did you know?”
“Call it intuition.” He grins at me when I purse my lips. “Also, you wrinkled your nose.”
“The food was always good, I mean. It wasn’t horrible.”
“But?”
“But they were paid to feed me. Every meal was made with precision, not love. But that doesn’t make it bad.” I shrug because I don’t mean to sound bitter about my upbringing all the time, especially to a man who’s probably richer than my father. I’m guessing Archer also grew up ten times as privileged. “And say you’re ill—it’s not your mom bringing you homemade chicken soup and ice cream. It’s the happy chef who plates it up with a smile and doesn’t stick around for story time.”
“That’s why I learned to make pancakes.”
I laugh. “Is that Colt’s sick food?”
“No, I want him to feel like I’m invested. I’m always his dad, even when I’m busy with work.” He winks then, and it’s so different from the uptight grouch I first met that it strips my voice away. “I’ll admit I’m a sucker for takeout, though. The damn apps make it too easy these days and it saves us time some nights.”
“Me too,” I admit, like we’ve just shared a dirty secret. “I had an apartment in Springfield. Mostly because I wanted to escape my family. I’m pretty basic with cooking. I just haven’t had much time to practice.”
“You’re never too old to learn, Winnie. Making food isn’t air traffic control.” He slides some pancakes onto a plate. It’s beautifully weird that such a big man gets so tender and gentle with cooking. And, on occasion, with me. “Want to flip the next one?”
“Hmm. I think I like watching you do it better.”